


every planet, every star, every single grain of sand

by loosingletters



Series: The Second Emperor [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Emperor Luke Skywalker, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Kid Fic, Naboo Culture and Customs (Star Wars), Non-Linear Narrative, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Darth Vader, Past Abuse, Politics, Possessive Anakin Skywalker, Slavery, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 10:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 21,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22714810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loosingletters/pseuds/loosingletters
Summary: In which Darth Vader finds 9-year-old Luke on Tatooine, proceeds to have a breakdown, kills Palpatine and makes his preteen son Emperor, as you do.Otherwise known as the Adventures of Teeny Tiny Emperor Luke and his Royal Dad Guard Darth Vader.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Luke Skywalker, Leia Organa & Luke Skywalker, Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Leia Organa
Series: The Second Emperor [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1800451
Comments: 633
Kudos: 2354





	1. Hutt War I

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, you know I've recently joined this fandom! So ofc I had to write fanfic for it.  
> Have fun!

Darth Vader had often been called the Emperor’s attack dog. Whether to his face, by enemies choking on their own blood, or in the whispers of his soldiers behind his back. He used to resent it, hate it even. For all the strength he possessed, the insult was yet another reminder that he’d once more been reduced to less than human. Something to be owned and subdued and broken over and over again.

Nowadays, he didn’t mind anymore, took pleasure in everyone knowing that he was never more than an arm’s length behind the Emperor. He was the dark shadow following the most precious treasure the galaxy had ever given him.

“Your Highness, I have to insist. With the Rebels still refusing to negotiate with us, we cannot afford a war with the Hutts!”

The meeting had been dragging on for hours. Vader didn’t have the patience for such long-winded sessions and also didn’t necessarily see the point. They had an honorable goal and Vader would ensure that it was successful. What did it matter that they’d be fighting on two fronts? He’d make it work. Besides, the Rebels would soon give up once they see how much good Luke was doing.

_ Patience, Father _ , Luke’s thoughts reached him. _We’re almost done._

Vader snorted and enjoyed how everybody else twitched. They could hardly tell his normal breathing apart from anything else and startling them was one of the few pleasures Vader had at these meetings. Besides his son’s presence, of course.

_ Like we’ve been almost done for an hour? _

“So, General, what you’re really saying is that because our military isn’t strong enough, I should avoid conflict with the Hutts and let millions of sentient citizens of my Empire suffer?”

_ My Empire _ , Vader could never grow sick of hearing Luke say it. Every planet, every star, every single grain of sand, Vader had promised Luke when he’d found his nine-year-old son on Tatooine. His son, scared and hurt, had been in a cage, still wearing the clothes stained with his aunt’s blood. Padmé’s child, meant for greatness, stolen away and sold as a slave.

He’d never be hurt again, never denied anything at all again. Here, on the throne that was his and his alone, Luke would be safe.

“I- of course not, your Highness, but-“

Luke smiled. A gentle push of the Force followed and the Admiral stopped talking, giving up. Luke‘s speeches weren’t as refined as Padmé’s yet, but he also didn’t have as much practice as she had at his age. Until he caught up, the Force would guide him and silence everyone else and force them to listen.

“Then I believe we’re done here for today. Thank you for your attendance. Please inform the senate for the next session and start preparing the army.”

Luke pushed his chair away from the table and stood up. He smoothed over his heavy red overcoat before confidently walking towards the exit, Vader right behind him.

Luke barely reached Vader’s waist, and probably would never reach Vader’s height if the doctors were to be trusted. It annoyed Luke to no end, but Vader could only see the benefits. It was easier for him to shield Luke and, should any attacker ever manage to bypass him, they’d likely underestimate his son.

“Can we go work on our droid now, Father?” Luke asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

His son yawned and his shoulders dropped. The straight posture they had practiced in front of mirrors fell away easily.

“Dinner first, my son. The cooks have prepared your favorite.”

Seeing Luke’s heartbroken look, Vader amended. His son had done excellent work today, much better than Vader would have. He’d have just told the generals to shut up and do as he said. Luke was much more skilled with endearing people to him.

“But an argument can be made for eating down in the workshop instead of the dining hall.”

Luke smiled, bright, happy, and _alive_.

“Yes!” He cheered. “Thank you! Let me just get changed first. Can’t have oil on the robes again, or Miss Tallin will complain again.”

Vader would do everything to ensure that warmth would never leave his side again. Luke would be great and grow up knowing he was loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I'll post more drabbles for this AU in here so pls forgive me for this not being linear. Maybe I'll sort the chapters by date once there are more.  
> I'd love to hear what you think of this story!  
> 


	2. Mustafar I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad so many people enjoy this story already, so you're getting a second chapter on the same day!  
> Luke is 9.

There were things you did not expect to see on a beautiful summer morning, such as Darth Vader standing in your freaking kitchen while you were still only half-dressed, looking forward to your first cup of tea.

Unfortunately, not even having been the guard for Naboo’s most important politician for over a decade could have stopped Eirtaé from freezing up.

She had seen holos of Darth Vader, but the darkness they showed could not even remotely compare to the presence the man in front of her.

“My Lord,” Eirtaé said as soon as she could shake off the shock. “How can I help you?”

Immediately her thoughts began to race. Eirtaé was nothing special, not anymore. After Padmé’s death, she had withdrawn from the public eye, much like many of the other Handmaidens. Some of them, like Sabé and Dormé, had disappeared not out of shame or fear, but because it was much easier to plan an uprising if everyone believed you to be dead. Perhaps Vader was searching for information on them. The Rebels had started causing more and more trouble lately. Eirtaé hadn’t spoken to either in almost seven years now, she definitely didn’t possess any information on them.

“You’re an artist,” Vader said. “And a seamstress.”

“Yes,” Eirtaé confirmed.

She was also the family disappointment, she refrained from mentioning. Once upon a time, she had dreamed of serving her country as their Queen, then protecting the Queen and Senator. Her entire family was made up of politicians and public servants. Her decision to get a degree in art and design had come out of nowhere for them. They had known of her hobby, of course, but never expected her to turn it into a job.

They hadn’t been aware that she’d always been the one to mend Padmé and the Handmaiden’s dresses or sit next to the tailor commissioned to clothe all of them and watch them work.

“You’re also highly intelligent, and due to your Force-sensitivity, you served as Queen and Senator Amidala’s advisor concerning the intentions and honesty of other dignitaries and are proficient in shielding your mind.”

Eirtaé counted to three in her mind, ensuring she’d keep her face neutral. The fact that she was Force-sensitive, even if not enough to be anywhere near interesting to the Jedi, was a fact that had been carefully deleted from her files when she became a Handmaiden. Only a handful of people knew about it.

Should she lie or admit the truth?

The Empire had been hunting down Force-sensitive people, but only those strong enough to be useful. Eirtaé only had a rough sense of whether people were honest and she didn’t think that was particularly important with her being as far removed from any court as one could be.

“Yes,” Eirtaé said once more.

Silence followed her statement and she got the distinct impression that Vader was mustering her.

“What do you think of the Empire?”

“It is great and powerful,” Eirtaé recited easily, practiced. “I hope it will prosper and become a beacon of strength.”

Vader crossed his arms. Strangely, Eirtaé thought there was something familiar about the gesture. As if she’d seen him do it before. Probably in one of the holos, the Emperor favored having Vader stand behind him during his long and boring speeches, and yet her mind urged her to take a closer look.

“You served Padmé Naberrie for ten years and you look at the galaxy as it is now and think it’s great?”

He had caught the lie, but he hadn’t attacked her yet.

Padmé Naberrie, he said. Last names were personal on Naboo once the person chose to adopt a political one. Using their chosen name showed respect while sticking to their previous name said you knew the person, were friends. Family, even. When Vader spoke it, he was disrespecting Padmé and everything she had stood for.

Not that his existence on its own didn’t already do that. Padmé had fought for justice. Where was justice and mercy in this Empire of darkness?

If Eirtaé could move just a meter to the left, she’d reach the kitchen cabinet in which she stored the blaster. She might not survive the attempt, but at least she’d hurt Vader. See how Palpatine would like that.

“He wouldn’t care,” Vader said in what sounded almost bitter.

_ How- _

“Your shielding has deteriorated considerably in the last years, but that is nothing a little training can’t fix and we’ll have eight months to work on that. Pack all your important belongings, you’re coming with me.”

Eirtaé should put up a fight. She owned it to all the people she had lost and loved, but what point did that have? Vader hadn’t appeared hostile yet, and maybe she could gain intel, any kind of information that would be useful for the future.

“You can even take your blaster,” Vader added and marched out of her kitchen. “You have thirty minutes.”

Eirtaé rested for one moment, then hurried to stuff all her items into one suitcase. She took ten minutes longer than Vader had allowed her, but he didn’t even comment on it. She hoped it would be worth it, that she wasn’t just handing herself over to the enemy, committing one last mistake.

** X **

Mustafar was a horrible planet. It was so hot, the air burned inside her lungs and the darkness creeping through the halls of Vader’s castle was almost terrible enough for her to want to steal a ship and run off.

But the malnourished, small, and obviously struggling child needed her.

“Father!” The boy cried as soon as Vader and she had left the ship. He pretty much threw himself at Vader, no fear whatsoever.

Eirtaé wasn’t sure if she wasn’t caught up in some strange dream. Vader hadn’t said a single word during the whole passage.

“Who is that?” The boy asked, shyly glancing at Eirtaé out of his Father’s arms.

“This is Eirtaé Tallin,” Vader introduced her. “She will be your teacher for the foreseeable future. She was a close friend of your mother and knew her well.”

“You did?” The boy asked, familiar bright blue eyes staring up at her. “I’m Luke Skywalker and when I grow up, I’m going to be the greatest pilot ever! Father promised to teach me. Can you tell me about Mother?”

He looked a lot like Anakin had at that age, but his smile, that determination was all Padmé. The child had survived, he lived.

_Somebody had lied to them._

They had mourned the death of their friend, their sister, and the niece or nephew they’d never get to meet, but he’d been alive all this time.

“Of course, I can, Luke,” Eirtaé agreed, hoping her voice wasn’t breaking as much as she thought it was. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

While Luke cheered, Eirtaé glanced at Vader, at _Anakin_.

The blonde Handmaiden, the almost Queen, the most cunning teenager in a group of girls trying to change the galaxy.

She wanted answers and she’d get them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I've wanted to involve at least one of the Handmaidens from the moment on I decided I'm actually gonna write this. Luke needs somebody to watch over him and teach him while Vader is busy figuring out how he's gonna kill the Emperor and who is better than the Handmaiden that almost became Queen? Vader knows how to run the military, but a planet? The whole galaxy? Yeah no.  
> Also there's not much info on Eirtaé which is great for interpretation whatever I want. Such as the Handmaidens looking froward to their niece/nephew and being forever sad they never got to meet them and her being Force-sensitive. And Luke needs at least one emotionally stable adult at his side bc Vader sure isn't.


	3. Mustafar II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Luke is 9!  
> This takes place a couple weeks after the last chapter. Have fun!

Mustafar was no place for a child and Eirtaé thanked every deity she knew that Luke knew better than to leave Vader’s castle. In general, she was surprised how responsible Luke was. He didn’t say a word about his strict diet plan or his lessons. He asked why he needed to know about galactic politics, and Eirtaé would very much like to know that herself, but he didn’t resent his studies, no matter how boring they must be to a nine-year-old.

“Knowledge is freedom,” he had said once during their lessons. The Tatooine proverb was painfully familiar to Eirtaé.

From what Eirtaé had been able to observe, the Jedi hadn’t been really big on preserving the native culture of their members. They had respected them of course and helped with fulfilling traditions, but given that they were their own religious order, it hadn’t been very significant on a larger scale.

Eirtaé had wondered if Anakin had talked as much about Tatooine to the Jedi as he had to her family. Hollé with her Cultural Studies and Linguistic major especially had been interested in hearing about Anakin’s homeworld. He had shared stories, his language and traditions. They’d obviously been important to him then and were now equally important to Luke, except Luke didn’t have anyone willing to tell him those stories.

Luke called Vader “Father”, and was Vader’s whole world, but the man steadily refused to associate with anything that reminded him of Anakin Skywalker.

Eirtaé didn’t remember much of Anakin’s stories and didn’t think it was her place to tell them. Instead, she told Luke stories of Naboo’s three moons and its many great seas, the fairy tales and legends she and Padmé had grown up with. This part of Luke’s inheritance she could share with him, but she couldn’t speak of the desert deities Luke tentatively asked her to tell him about. Usually, she could get him to sleep anyway by narrating the heroic actions of his parents or the peaceful stolen moments during the war.

But that didn’t fix anything.

Eirtaé waited until Luke had fallen asleep completely, before sneaking out of his room and marching straight into the direction of Anakin’s room. He still hadn’t explained much to her, besides that Luke had watched his aunt and uncle die while being taken in as a slave himself. Eirtaé didn’t know how Anakin had survived, why he had turned into Darth Vader or what he had planned for the future. He also didn’t give her many chances to ask. Either she was busy with Luke, or he was. Children, Eirtaé had figured, demanded a lot of attention.

Eirtaé knocked at Anakin’s door as a warning, then opened it without awaiting an invitation. She’d been patient long enough. They were going to talk and they’d do it now. Anakin was sitting at his desk, going over blueprints if she saw that correctly.

“Anakin-“ She began to say, only to be interrupted immediately.

“Anakin Skywalker is _dead_.”

So that was how they were going to start? _Alright_.

Eirtaé fell silent, took a moment to collect her thoughts. Vader was by no means stable, but she knew he wouldn’t harm her, at least not worse than she’d already been. She didn’t delude herself into thinking it was because of what they used to have, but because of how attached Luke had become to her. On one hand, it wasn’t like Luke had many options between her, Vader and the two droids, but the boy was honest and open about his affection. He loved her, and she loved him, had ever since Padmé had told her that she was pregnant.

Vader wouldn’t risk alienating Luke by harming her.

“Whose son am I teaching then?” Eirtaé asked.

She imagined Anakin’s face twisting into a snarl, the one he put on when he was confused and didn’t want anyone to know. Vader’s mask was unreadable to her. She hated it. Given the chance, she’d tear the whole suit to pieces, cut this chain tying Anakin to the Empire and leave. They could go somewhere far away, to a planet that wasn’t a single bloody death trap, where they could heal.

“The little boy sleeping in his bed a few doors down the hallway is my nephew,” Eirtaé continued. “He’s the son of my best friend, _my sister_ , and her husband. If you are not Anakin Skywalker, what right do you have to claim Luke as your child?”

“He’s my son!” Vader snarled and rose to his full height.

The temperature of the room seemed to drop and Eirtaé swallowed. This was the Emperor’s right hand, the machine that slaughtered hundreds on command because that was what his Master demanded. This was not her brother.

“Anakin Skywalker was a good man,” Eirtaé insisted. “He was a hero-“

Everything in the study seemed to move, come crashing down as Vader’s fury rose.

“He was pathetic! He was foolish and too weak to protect anyone. I killed him and he doesn’t deserve-“

“Father?”

The ice crawling up the walls vanished instantly.

Vader and Eirtaé turned to the entrance. Luke was standing at the door, holding his blanket with one hand and rubbing his eye with the other.

“Is everything alright? It got-“ Luke yawned, “cold again. I woke up.”

Vader quickly rushed past Eirtaé and picked Luke up. The suit must be incredibly uncomfortable, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from the way Luke relaxed and snuggled into Vader’s arms. His eyes were already falling close again.

“Tell me a story, Father,” Luke muttered. “I wanna hear about Naahk stealing the storms.”

Vader didn’t stay long enough in the room for her to hear his reply. Eirtaé wanted to smash his stupid mask into the ground and scream against the currents. It hadn’t been supposed to end like this.

But, as usual, the world didn’t care and answered her anger with silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> First things first, I'm overwhelmed by the reception of this story??? Thank you all so much for your comments! If you have any prompts or requests for this verse, feel free to drop them here or [over at my tumblr](https://jasontoddiefor.tumblr.com/)! I don't really have a plot like plan for where I'm going with this, I'm just writing scenes that appeal to me.  
> Next up! I've decided that I'm gonna borrow the worldbuilding I've done for one of my original stories for Tatooine. Canon's utter lack of content dealing with Anakin having been a slave and what that means for Luke is just, well, insulting tbh. "Naahk" is the main deity in their culture, explanation to be followed. Might also throw in some conlang.  
> Last! The Handmaidens all knew about Padmé and Anakin and it'll be my personal forever canon that they just sort of adopted Anakin as their brother in the case of the Handmaidens that had been with Padmé since she was a queen, and a good friend for the others. Therefore Eirtaé doesn't think of Anakin as just an extension of Padmé, but as somebody who was family.  
> Well, that being said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Please let me know what you think!


	4. Lessons on Alderaan I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you may have seen, I've added chapter titles and numbers! In the future, once there are more chapters, I might start sorting them chronologically for real, but for now, the chapter title tells you where we're at timeline-wise.  
> Luke & Leia are 11, nearly 12.

Bail didn’t think he could ever grow sick of just watching his daughter prosper. Leia was smart and strong and brave, much more mature than Bail had been at her age. He hoped that when the time came, she’d be able to forgive Breha and him for all the secrets they kept from her. Leia was a compassionate child, but her righteous fury was a force to be reckoned with. Obi-Wan had seen her in one of her fits a couple years back and Bail wouldn’t ever forget how ashen his sun-tanned skin had become. Bail didn’t even need to guess who Obi-Wan had been thinking of then. Leia was Anakin Skywalker’s child. Of course, she’d inherit some of his traits, but there were worse things to be than compassionate.

“Concentrate, Leia,” Obi-Wan said, his eyes still closed in mediation.

His friend had aged a lot in the nine years he’d lived on Tatooine and on the good days, he fondly blamed every new gray hair on Leia’s inability to sit still.

“I am concentrating, Uncle Ben,” Leia sighed, but didn’t move to fix her lax posture.

On the bad days, Obi-Wan watched holos of Luke’s public appearances over and over again, as if he could spot a reason to become reckless enough to leave Leia’s side and rescue her brother. Obi-Wan would never stop blaming himself for losing Luke.

Bail understood it, of course he did, he was a father and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to cope with losing Leia, but he was also keenly aware that Palpatine’s death and Luke’s coronation might have been the best thing to happen to their galaxy in a decade. Vader’s puppet Emperor or not, it had become easier to breathe with Palpatine gone. Nothing much had changed yet for the outer worlds, Vader was too busy cutting down any inside threat destabilizing Luke’s reign, but Bail dared to hope change would soon overtake the entire empire. The child Emperor attended every senate session and listened attentively while taking notes, which was more than Palpatine had ever done during his reign. He hadn’t cared about anyone’s problems as long as his throne was safe.

“Uncle Ben!” Leia complained and fell onto her back. “I’m tired and Dad’s distracting.”

Obi-Wan glanced at Bail, amusement flickering in his eyes, before he turned to Leia. “Your father is a rather distracting man. He thinks very loudly.”

“Exactly! And I already did my katas,” Leia said seriously. “Twice.”

“And managed to mediate for 30 very, very long minutes, huh?” Obi-Wan added equally serious, causing Leia to grin.

“Yes! Can we stop for the day now, please?”

Obi-Wan made a show out of considering her request, before nodding. “You may go.”

“Yes!”

Leia jumped up and ran through the room, only stopping halfway to turn around and bow, before she rushed past Bail even. One of her friends was coming to visit in a couple hours. Leia hadn’t talked about anything else for days. Why Obi-Wan had even attempted to reign in the eleven-year-old, he didn’t know.

“She sure has a lot of energy left given how hard she’s been working,” Bail commented.

“That’s just how they are at that age,” Obi-Wan replied, his breath hitching only so slightly at the end of the sentence.

Bail imagined a hundred ways Obi-Wan could continue that sentence and not one would be kind.

“When do you think we can tell her?” Bail asked instead.

“Tell her?”

“Separating siblings is serious on Alderaan, old friend. We needed to as long as Palpatine was in control, but now… If it becomes public knowledge that Luke is her brother, we could hardly defend our actions in court.”

Obi-wan frowned and mustered Bail as if he was trying to determine if Bail was joking.

“We’re keeping her safe from Vader.”

“Are we really?” Bail wondered. “Luke is the Emperor and from what our intelligence says, he’s fine, flourishing even in his new role.”

“Vader-“

“Is not the Emperor,” Bail interrupted.

Obi-Wan was an outsider. No matter how long they’ve been friends, Alderaan’s customs concerning siblings were always at least a little strange to outsiders. When Master Yoda had suggested separating the twins, Bail’s first instinct had been to protest. Breha had refused to see him for a week when she’d learned of Luke, never mind let Bail hold Leia. If not for the reassurance that they were protecting both twins, she would have boarded the next ship to pick up Luke as well, or leave Leia with her blood family.

“Luke is the most powerful person in the galaxy. One word from him, and Vader wouldn’t even be able to look at Leia.”

“You don’t know that,” Obi-Wan countered. He stood taller, straighter, looking more like the feared Jedi General than he had in years.

“You’re right, we don’t,” Bail replied. “And I won’t suggest informing Vader. I just hope Leia will be able to forgive us in the future.”

Because Leia was a princess of Alderaan and she’d most certainly resent Bail for separating her from her twin.

“Everything to keep her safe,” Obi-Wan said.

But what happened when everything wasn’t enough?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVELY COMMENTS!!!  
> It really keeps me motivated! So, once more, if any of you have any prompts for this AU, just say so and I'll write them! Rn I'm mostly just writing scenes that interest me.
> 
> My Worldbuilding Note:  
> Siblings are pretty much sacred on Alderaan. Separating them is a big no-no, unless they are in serious danger. Since Luke is, officially, above Vader and Palpatine's dead, they don't strictly speaking need to be kept apart by Alderaan law. Hence Bail's worry. And Leia has been raised as Alderaanian, so if she learned of Luke, she'd be righteously angry.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think about this chapter!


	5. Mustafar III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon prompt on tumblr: Vader training Luke.  
> Takes place a month before it's bye bye Sidious time.  
> Have fun!

Luke’s education had been a mess. The tests Vader had given him showed that he had an above-average knowledge of everything mechanic, which wasn’t surprising given that Luke had grown up on a moisture farm. It pleased Vader that his son had a talent for machines as he did, it gave him a way to connect to him.

Unfortunately, growing up on Tatooine also meant that Luke’s general knowledge on politics, literature and history was all over the place, but nonexistent in most. If Luke weren’t so fond of studying, listening to the knowledge provided by Eirtaé and the droid tutoring him, he’d have a hard time catching up until it was time for him to take the throne.

Vader was almost done with his preparations. The Emperor wouldn’t see him coming and his reign of lies would end. Before that though, Luke needed to be able to protect himself. Vader had already assembled a list of the men he trusted to protect his son. There was a reason Sidious _disliked_ Vader’s 501st, but as long as his legion was the Empire’s most successful battalion, they couldn’t be disbanded.

But there was still a chance someone might slip past them, get close enough to hurt Luke, and that just wouldn’t do it. Luke wasn’t somebody who enjoyed fighting, but he took well to using katas for meditation. Much like Vader as a young child, he didn’t do well sitting down calmly for meditating and so Vader had instructed him in first forms of Shii-Cho, which Luke had picked up with ease. This version of moving meditation might be a little unconventional, but it had worked for Vader. The additional fighting practice was only beneficial.

“Well done, my son,” Vader told Luke once he was finished.

The nine-year-old dropped out of his stance and beamed up at Vader. “Really?”

Beneath his masked, Vader smiled. “I will never lie to you.”

Luke crossed his arms and scrunched up his face in a manner that reminded Vader painfully of Padmé.

“But did I _really_ do well?”

It was a familiar game by now. Vader would praise Luke and the child would ask for confirmation again and again. It was endearing, even if he yet had to figure out the purpose of this act. Luke should know that he was the most important part of his Father’s life.

“Yes.”

Luke smiled and pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. “Does that mean I can get a real lightsaber now?”

_Absolutely not._

“You’re a little young still, son.” Seeing his disappointed look, Vader softened. “I didn’t have my own until I was much older than you.”

Like all children, Luke thought his Father was the best Force-sensitive there was. Vader hesitated to call himself Sith these days. He intended to train Luke, but not so his son would be forced to kill him some day. He’d also never be a Jedi again, they had been so blind and weak, so he hesitated to tell Luke about his childhood with them.

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

Luke fell back onto the mats and groaned. “That’s so long! Father, is there a way to get one earlier?”

Not if Luke’s lightsaber was meant to hold a crystal that suited him, and nothing less would do. Using another person’s lightsaber, no matter how well-matched, always felt strange, uncomfortable. Luke’s lightsaber needed to be perfect. Vader would take his son to Ilum and Luke would find his kyber crystal there.

“No,” Vader replied. “But the stronger your connection to the Force is, the easier it will be for you to find your crystal.”

“More training then?”

“Yes.”

Luke blew a raspberry in disappointment but stood up again. “More meditating too?” He inquired.

It was the easiest way to connect to the Force, but they’d done enough of that already.

“Any exercise will do.”

“Yes!” Luke jumped up and immediately rushed over to the other side of the room where a box filled with softballs stood.

Vader should have known.

“First one to be hit ten times loses?” Luke suggested eagerly, already levitating ten balls into the air.

“Give it your all.”

And with an excited shriek, Luke threw himself into the game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader is one of those parents who think their child is a genius and unfortunately they actually are.  
> I talk about this AU on [tumblr here](https://jasontoddiefor.tumblr.com/tagged/tiny-emperor-luke-au)!  
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Tatooine I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not the chapter I wanted to write but uuuh. It happened.  
> Welcome to the beginning.

Luke’s home was burning. The dark ashes made the air even heavier to breathe than normal. The wind roaring in his hears cut through his skin like glass, forcing Luke to his knees.

“We’re free people!” Aunt Beru screamed as an ugly and wet sound escaped her.

The suns were high up in the sky, the midday heat not yet completely reached but still, somehow, they managed to drench the sand a bleeding evening color.

“Please,” Aunt Beru begged.

She was pulling Luke close to her, put her hands over his eyes and forced him to lower his head. Sand was getting into his eyes, made them itch, but Beru didn’t let go of him.

“ _Please_ , leave us. We can pay next week, I promise.”

“Jabba doesn’t hand out second chances.”

Luke could feel Uncle Owen only faintly, his heartbeat slowed down as if he were falling asleep, but usually it never hurt him. Owen complained sometimes when Luke sneaked into his Aunt and Uncle’s bed after nightmares, but he never hesitated to pull Luke to his chest where he could listen for his heartbeat. It was a familiar tune, like a sweet lullaby did it lull Luke back into a dreamless sleep.

_Ba-dam._

_Ba-dam_

_Ba-_

The sound of a vaporator breaking caught Luke’s attention. It was a frustrating sound, one that meant Luke would spend another hour outside, sticking his hands into the machinery to find what wires had gotten damaged in the crash. Usually, a high whirling sound followed that rang in your ears even an hour later when he was back at the homestead.

The lack of it disturbed Luke. There was only Aunt Beru’s crying – why was she wasting water? She was smart and wise, she had taught Luke how to turn tears into time spent working – and nothing else.

Just silence.

Owen’s heartbeat was lost.

Luke tried to look up, catch a glance of the events taking place in front of him, but Beru’s hands were still covering his eyes. He dug his own into them, tore them away only to come face to face with too much red sand.

The ground couldn’t be covered by the blood sand, it was the wrong season. The red storms of the east shouldn’t come for another few months, they hadn’t prepared properly for them yet. They’d lose their vaporators, they hadn’t been able to afford new protective casing yet.

“ _Please_!”

One of the wild massiffs snarled and clawed at Aunt Beru, tearing her away from Luke. Her soft brown eyes, usually so warm and welcoming, were wide open and filled with terror. Luke found himself trying to reach for his aunt. He held out his hands, but soon was pushed violently into the ground, inhaling sand as he crashed face first.

“Luke! Please, he’s just a child!”

_Ba-dum._

_Ba-dum_

_Ba-_

Silence.

Aunt Beru laid in the sand, still. She’d suffocate if they didn’t help her up.

“She’d have caught a good price!” One of the monsters hissed, sharp with a venomous tongue.

“We got the brat, didn’t we?” The other screeched, eyes flashing.

Luke scrambled to his knees and begged the wind for push so he could reach Beru and Owen. They both were so very still and silent. Luke hated the silence. Biggs called him crazy, didn’t understand how loud everything else got in his head when there was no one for Luke to listen to. With as much strength as he could muster up, Luke pulled Aunt Beru up. The sand stuck to her face, dull brown eyes stared back at Luke.

Empty.

 _Where are you?_ Luke wondered. Why couldn’t he hear them anymore?

“Aunt Beru?” Luke whispered and gently shook her shoulder. “Beru, _please_.”

With growing terror Luke tried to wake his aunt up, but she wouldn’t move, wouldn’t return to him as if she’d run out during the storms to let the desert claim her-

“Get up, brat!” The massiffs ordered.

He wouldn’t listen. They had no right to tell him what to do.

 _Freeborn son of a freed man_ , Aunt Beru used to tell him when the teasing at school got nasty, when _Skywalker_ was hurled at him like an insult.

He just had to get through to her, just-

“I said, get up!”

They put their hands on Luke’s shoulders, dragged him away from his aunt with bruising grips while he screamed and lashed out.

“Shouldn’t have killed her. Brat wouldn’t throw such a tantrum then.”

_Killed her._

Killed-

Luke’s hands were shaking and he couldn’t seem to get rid of the color staining them. He’d been holding Beru in his arms, she was supposed to wake up, to return like she always did to make everything better, but she as lying there, still and gone and dead and killed and-

The storm picked up again. Razor blades of sand cut Luke free while the massiffs shouted, but he just flung himself back at his aunt’s body. He would not be taken, she had to return and they would go home.

He needed water, it made everything better. If he had enough to cover her whole, it would breathe life back into her. He just had to stop the bleeding, close her eyes, keep her safe-

“The hell- did the brat just- Jabba’s gonna pay thrice the amount if the little shit-“

_Freeborn son of a freed man._

The massiffs reached for Luke again, their claws cut through the skin on his back, a burn worse than anything the suns could sear into his skin.

Luke _screamed_.

And darkness took over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _A massiff was a squat quadruped with a row of spines along their humped backs. Native to desert environments, massiffs were snarling hunters with powerful and dangerous bites. The creature's spines afforded it an extra level of defense, and its large eyes allowed it to see well at night._
> 
> They seemed like an appropriate choice for monsters children of Tatooine would be afraid of. I hope this chapter isn't too confusing, but it wasn't like I could use a POV that is not Luke. So, what's going on here?  
> Owen and Beru couldn't pay taxes and had to pay with their lives. I like to think that untrained force-sensitives have enhanced skills and for Luke such manifests as sound. He doesn't exactly get what's going on and senses his uncle and aunt hurting and then dying. In a moment of desperation, he uses the force and the raiders pick up on it. Then he faints because he's nine and exhausted.  
> So, yeah, that's it.
> 
> Don't kill me please?
> 
> I have also decided to make the chapter titles dates. Sidious is the kinda bastard who would start a new calender for his reign so Galactic Empire Standard Time (GEST) it is. Date/Month/Year calendar. Year 0 is the year the twins are born in and I've decided to make Empire Day May 23rd: 23/05 - GEST going by my calendar.


	7. Mustafar IIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon Ask: Could you write something with Dad Vader comforting Tiny Emperor Luke after a nightmare pretty please?
> 
> Uuuh, yeah. I totally can do that *starts sweating*.

Even now, after so many years stuck in a prison meant to keep him alive and breathing, Vader couldn’t find enough calm to sleep properly. He meditated to keep functioning optimally, and nothing less would do if he were to defeat the Emperor soon. It had to be done within the year. He couldn’t keep Luke hidden much longer no matter how much work he put into securing his son’s safety. And yet, despite knowing how much was at stake, he couldn’t find any rest. His thoughts whirled from one problem to another, unfocusing. His joints ached even more than usual despite being submerged in bacta. He’d need a new formula then, the remains of his body had become too used to the painkillers allowing him to slip into meditation easier. It seemed like each year, his resistance rose faster.

Trying to find something beside his body to pay attention to, Vader concentrated on the bright bond he shared with his soon. Its presence was much more soothing than anything else, reassuring Vader quietly that Luke was well and happy, even if he wasn’t as asleep as he ought to be.

 _Father?_ Luke’s call rang across their bond.

 _I am here, my son_. He’d always be there for Luke. _Sleep_.

 _Can’t_. The reply was followed by a flicker of darkness, fear, and uncertainty. Vader got the vague impression of sand in burning wounds, a dull ache in his leg, rooms much too small and the taunting laughter of men dragging him inside-

 _You are safe_ , Vader assured his child. _You will never set a foot on that planet again_.

Keeping his anger at bay so it wouldn’t push over into his son’s mind was the hardest task Vader had ever had to submit himself to. He wanted to scream, tear the Hutts apart one disguising limb at the time. A sudden death would be much too kind for these _animals_ who had dared to hurt his son.

_Can I sleep with you?_

Vader hesitated. _I am meditating._

Luke had seen him without his suit before, only a month after Vader had found him. The Emperor had been displeased with Vader’s actions concerning the rebels and shown his irritation. Vader had dragged himself back to Mustafar for some much-needed maintenance on himself and his suit. He hadn’t meant for his son to see him in such a sorry state, see the weak and pitiful man contained in the life support suit, but Luke had rushed into the medical station before Vader had been able to stop him. His son hadn’t been disgusted, not even scared or really angry, just pained and sad. Vader wanted to spare him the hurt that came from recognizing how much of Vader was truly gone, but Luke was his mother’s child. Stubbornly, he had stuck to Vader’s side. Later on, even inquiring the droids about his Father’s state. It wouldn’t surprise Vader if he’d soon see Luke looking into prosthetics.

“Father?”

It took Vader a split-second to realize that he had heard Luke’s voice outside of his mind. He opened his eyes and found himself looking at his child standing in the entrance to Vader’s chambers. Luke was barefoot, which was no trouble with how warm his castle’s grounds always were due to Mustafar’s atmosphere, but his eyes were red-rimmed as if he’d been crying.

_Come in, my child._

Quickly, Luke rushed into the room, closing the door behind himself with not so much as a thought. The Force was strong in Luke, he’d one day be the greatest Force-user there was in the galaxy. He was dragging at least three blankets with him, as well as his pillow and a stuffed loth-cat he loved above every other toy Vader had gifted him.

Luke then set out to make himself comfortable right in front of Vader. He was mindful not to touch any of the wires and tubes connected to Vader’s tank and assembled a small comfortable nest for himself.

“I lo-“ Luke interrupted himself by yawning. It didn’t surprise Vader, it was the middle of the night and Luke had had a busy day and went to bed rather late as well.

“I love you, Father,” Luke muttered sleepily and pulled his blanket over his head until only the very top of his hair peaked out of the cocoon of blankets.

It didn’t take long for Luke to fall asleep. Soon Vader could see Luke’s chest rise and fall steadily, his son drifted off into a dreamless sleep. He longed to sit beside his son, to run his hand through his hair, reassure him that he’d be alright and brush away the tear tracks, but this was the closest the two of them could ever be, separated by either durasteel or transparisteel.

_I love you too, my dear Luke._

Vader closed his eyes again and, with newfound strength, pushed the chaos tormenting him to the back of his mind. He let himself enjoy the presence of his child, the peace and warmth Luke brought with him wherever he went, and began to fall into a trance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petition to give Vader back one flesh hand so he can comfort his son.  
> You can tell this is early in the timeline because Luke still asks if he can enter a room. 14 y/o Luke just storms inside the room like "FATHER you wouldn't BELIEVE the new star ship blueprints I just saw. They're so cool!!!" while Vaderkin is just swimming in his bacta going "Son, please, I am meditating"  
> Also, if my writing could endure it, Vader would tack a possessive in front of each time he actually mentions Luke.  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. The Coronation I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the chapter most of you have been waiting for: the coronation part 1

There were no precedents or traditions concerning the coronation of the Galactic Emperor. In all honesty, Bail hadn’t even expected Vader to call for a full Senate session, but to just declare himself Emperor and be done. Vader didn’t particularly care for the Senate. It was no secret that he thought the Senate was redundant and unfortunately Bail had to agree with him. He had been under no illusion that sooner or later Palpatine would get rid of the last remnant of the Old Republic, he’d just hoped that they would have more time to prepare for it.

The whole situation had escalated so quickly after Palpatine’s death, the Alliance hadn’t been sure whether to start celebrating or cursing when it had become clear that Vader would take the throne. There had always been a slim chance that Mas Amedda would attempt to seize control of Coruscant, the Senate floor was all but his when Palpatine was busy and Vader had never outright meddled in politics. The Grand Vizier was officially the head of the Imperial Ruling Council, even though Vader was technically speaking the Heir Apparent.

 _The Imperial Constitution was a mess_ , Bail thought not for the first time. Especially considering the line of succession. The Head of State position was based on the role of the _elected_ Chancellor, except the powers of such, and the further legislations Palpatine had put in place, had made election unnecessary, setting up a monarchy whose heirs were just individuals given special permissions instead of real roles that had clear definitions within the Empire. Vader’s official title was fancy, and most of the time he could get away with just about everything as long as the Emperor didn’t object, but the legal frame surrounding the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces was difficult.

Clearly, Palpatine’s judgment had been so clouded with delusions of his own immortality and grandeur, he had never expected to actually die and let anyone inherit his Empire.

Bail pushed down the urge to sigh and sought out his allies. They too were waiting in anticipation for the session to finally begin, their expressions kept purposefully neutral. He knew that many of them had quietly hidden away their families, should Vader decide to lash out immediately against anyone he suspected of collaboration with the Rebels.

Bail couldn’t afford to do the same for his family, not that Breha would ever agree to go into hiding. At least Bail had managed to get Obi-Wan to stay at the palace for extra security.

A bell chimed, loud and clear.

Bail couldn’t remember the last time the Senate had been so silent that he could hear it from the first ring on.

The Senators rose to stand as Mas Amedda entered the hall alone and stood in the central Emperor’s podium, surprisingly not to the right of the Emperor’s seat as usual, but to his left.

“Senators of the Galactic Empire,” Amedda began to speak, “I rise to open the first full Senate session of this quarter.”

The Grand Vizier looked like he always did, though perhaps his robes were a little more formal and embellished than usual.

“By the power vested in me, I announce the arrival of the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces, Heir Presumptive to the Galactic Throne, Lord Vader.”

Bail couldn’t afford to frown, to show any possible weakness or flaw that could be used to determine his stance for or against Vader. There were too many loyalists in the room, too many cameras that might capture his confusion, but Bail wished he could just pause the time for a moment to collect his thoughts. Vader was not the Heir Presumptive as there couldn’t be any other, more rightful contester to the throne. And even if there were someone, Vader would have gotten rid of them.

It felt like the whole galaxy was holding its breath as Vader entered the senate hall, the same tall and dark behemoth who had terrified entire systems for a decade. His shadows always seemed to suck in all the light in the room, bury it deep in his own hatred, yet Vader didn’t move to the center of the floor where another pod was waiting. Instead, he stood by the door, unmoving.

“Announcing the arrival of His Imperial Highness,” Amedda continued.

Another person entered the senate floor, clad in a white gown and impossibly small next to Vader.

“Heir Apparent to the Galactic Throne.”

Together, Vader and the blonde boy walked towards the remaining pod. Vader lingered half a step behind the child, staying within reach in case he needed to grab the boy. Slowly their pod rose upwards, and Bail wished he was a little closer to it, could see what color the boy’s eyes were, whether he was wearing make-up to cover bruises.

“Son and heir of Lord Vader, Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces.”

Leia preferred white clothes as well, Bail thought, half-convinced that this was a fever dream. The boy’s long petalled cape of a soft rose color was the most vibrant part of the assemble, a quite artful and bright reminder of the victory that led all of them down this dark path. He was wearing a silver headband too, though only parts of it flickered when the light it from the correct angle. Whoever had made his outfit, they couldn’t have been more obvious about his parentage if they tried.

“And Padmé Amidala, former Senator and 23rd Queen of Naboo, member of the Royal House of Naboo.”

Bail looked away only for a second, just enough to glance to his right where one of his closest allies, Naboo’s fearless Senator Pooja Naberrie, was staring at the boy in open shock.

“Prince Luke Amidala.”

Luke stepped onto the Emperor’s podium and took Palpatine’s seat, Mas Amedda to his left and Vader to his right.

He was _alive_.

“A week ago, we mourned the passing of our Emperor, today we shall rejoice at the coronation of the second Emperor of the Galactic Empire, Prince Luke Amidala.”

Vader wasn’t going to be Emperor, Bail realized, horror biting at him as sharply as the ice of Alderaan’s winters. He was making his ten-year-old son the puppet ruler of the galaxy.

Bail needed to message Obi-Wan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, Luke is wearing a cape that looks like the one of Padmé's Victory Dress in TPM.
> 
> Okay, so, titles. I swear, this was the most difficult part. I know my summary says "And Vader makes his kid emperor" but whether Vader actually has the authority to do so is freaking complicated because Vader's position within the empire is basically "I can do what I want unless Palpatine says no" because Palpatine's "no" means he can demote Vader to whatever position he sees fit. And also what kind of ruling did Palpatine even do with Mas Amedda running the Senate 80% of the time? The imperial constitution must be a mess but nobody's there to tell Vader, who has the majority of the navy behind him, "no".  
> And therefore titles are really difficult. As Palpatine's heir, Vader should be "Heir Apparent", but he basically hands Luke that title. Luke being crowned Emperor makes Vader "Heir Presumptive" as Luke's children would actually inherit the title and Vader has no idea Leia exists.  
> Having both types of "Heir" here at the same time is not really legally sound, but the constitution is a mess and Luke's gonna be Emperor in five minutes so who cares not me.
> 
> Bail is having a really exhausting day. It's fun writing him!  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	9. Homecoming I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vader goes to Tatooine.  
> Warnings: This is not a happy chapter. The canon typical violence is for this chapter. Vader is in pain and you recall Vader's appearance in Rogue One? Yeah. Keep that in mind.
> 
> And don't forget May the Fourth be with you!

The anger had been boiling beneath his skin ever since they had left Coruscant. The memory of kneeling in front of his _Master_ had twisted and broken into a thousand different instances Skywalker had been too weak to conquer his enemies and turn them to dust. Even now, as the ship fell out of hyperspace, he could hear his Master’s words haunting him, feel the lightning crack over the wounds Kenobi had left on his body.

“We are approaching Tatooine, Lord Vader,” the navigator stated as if Vader wouldn’t be able to pick out Tatooine amongst a hundred planets on sight alone. “The palace of Jabba the Hutt has given permission for you to land. The next course is already set and we will proceed without you then.”

 _Tatooine_.

Vader knew what he was doing here and it had absolutely nothing to do with politics and everything with the Emperor seeing it fit to punish him for his latest transgression. Like the Jedi, the Emperor had seen it fit to muzzle him, take any inquiries to his reign as a personal insult. The chains around his ankles were heavy, dragged him down into the sand. Being sent to Tatooine was supposed to serve as a harsh reminder of who he used to be and who he still was, the possession of a Master he was better off not disobeying.

“Do not disappoint the Emperor without my leadership,” Vader said before he promptly turned around and made his way to the ship hanger.

He was supposed to negotiate with Jabba on the Empire’s use of hyperlanes since he had been so successful with it the last time. The last time he also hadn’t been clinging to his rage alone, his body in severe need of maintenance, yet another thing the Emperor had denied him as a punishment. He was to talk to that _pest_ of a slug first before he was given off time to heal at Mustafar while his men were sent halfway across the galaxy to fight a completely senseless battle guaranteed to become a slaughter. His crew would need replacements, more spies for the Emperor to send abroad his ship.

By the time Vader was landing his ship on Tatooine’s sands, he had managed to regulate his anger enough to avoid setting Jabba’s palace on fire the moment he set his eyes on it. Two guards and an almost ruined protocol droid greeted him.

“Lord Vader, we welcome you to the palace of the great Jabba,” the protocol droid chattered away.

Vader ignored it and marched past the gates, not waiting for the hired guards to lead him in. He wanted to get off this planet as soon as possible, rid himself of the dust already beginning to cling to his damaged skin.

It reminded him of all the times Skywalker was forced to race as a child, crashed to the ground with sand filling his nostrils and mouth, depriving him of air in the most painful way of drowning. Choking on water, on life, could never be as cruel as your lungs filling with stone.

Thankfully, Jabba’s palace was cleaner, likely due to the many slaves he kept. He flaunted his wealth and acquisitions, paraded them around like decor.

The protocol droid that had been waiting for him now rushed to Jabba’s side as the crime lord began to speak.

“The mighty Jabba greets you, Lord Vader,” the protocol droid translated.

Vader would snort if he could. The droid’s translations were quite loose, entirely ignoring the insults that didn’t translate well into basic.

“The Empire thanks you for your kind welcoming, great Jabba. The Emperor is the most pleased to hear you are considering opening your hyperlanes,” Vader told Jabba, the words sounding horribly rehearsed in his mind.

This was not Vader’s doing. He’d never speak to a Hutt. They ought to be slaughtered, put down and cut into pieces, disposed off like _trash_. Vader could negotiate, bargain and haggle like the best of them when he wanted to, but they didn’t deserve it. No slaver did.

“The powerful Jabba has a gift for you, a sign of goodwill, so that the negotiations may start on a positive note,” the droid continued. “Bring the child.”

One of Jabba’s many slaves, an already elder Twi’lek woman, bowed and hurried off. Only moments later she returned with a small human child trailing behind her, being pulled along by the guards. The boy couldn’t be older than ten and every step seemed to pain him, no surprise really going by the heavy chains wrung around his neck and wrists and how blue his ankles were. It seemed excessive for a child of such a delicate built.

“This is a Jedi child for you, personally, found hidden in the desert.”

A Force-sensitive child on this Force-forsaken hell pit was interesting, but overall not all that important. It was certainly not enough to buy Jabba the advantage he was aiming for, not with how much Vader despised this planet.

“Given the benefits the Empire would grand you, one would expect a greater gift,” Vader said.

Could he speak properly, he knew his tone would be scathing, but the respirator made it sound flat. This was perhaps one of those few brief moments he had almost accepted the machine inserted in his throat.

“Yes, yes, but this gift is just for you Lord Vader. Introduce yourself, child!” The Hutt snarled where the droid only fearfully intoned.

The boy’s eyes were unfocused. The child was completely out of it, likely from the blood loss. His clothes were covered by an excessive amount of it, the blood couldn’t belong to him alone or he’d be dead already.

“I have no use for a child,” Vader finally said.

The boy might make a good Inquisitor still, but Vader wasn’t too keen on handing the Emperor yet another tool that could be sharpened to cut his own throat.

“No, you will want this one, I am sure,” Jabba insisted. “I met his father himself, Jedi plague that he was. Get that child to speak!”

One of the guards smacked the boy across the cheek, harsh enough that it probably would have sent him flying if not for the older woman holding him steady. She bowed down too, brushed his hair out of his face, as gently as she was allowed to in these circumstances.

 _"The desert is coming soon, dear one_ ,” the woman said. “Tell me your name, I’ll remember it.”

The boy leaned towards the woman’s half-embrace.

“’m Luke Skywalker,” the boy breathed, his voice was barely above a whisper, but to Vader it sounded like someone was screaming.

“See?” Jabba proclaimed gleefully. “A Jedi child, as promised.”

The walls of the room began to crack, deep tears slowly tore them apart.

“What _lies_ ,” Vader snarled like krayt dragon, howled like a storm, “are you spreading, you pathetic _bastard!”_

He deserved nothing less than death, slow torture, his skin being stripped off his body, layer by layer, forcing him to _bleed_ while he watched his kingdom _burn_. Vader reached up with his hand, grabbing Jabba’s throat with the Force as all around him Mustafar reigned supreme. The bounty hunters raised their weapons to shoot him, laughable attempts at stopping him from taking his revenge.

Jabba would pay for his transgressions, for his lies, his attempt at deceiving Vader, for making him think the child of _-_

“-Anakin, child of Shmi,” the boy said, entirely unaware of his surroundings as his voice broke more and more. “I’m freeborn, _I’m free, you can’t take me, you can’t_ -“

The boy tore at his chains again and Vader felt like his Master was tearing at his- no- the boy’s, the child who knew of Anakin, who knew the name of Shmi Skywalker, raised on Tatooine- those chains they were not-

They weren’t Vader’s chains, they belonged to the _child_. All the torture Vader had been exposed to ever since he stepped on Tatooine were but shallow echoes of the child’s agony. He was broadcasting in the Force and Vader had picked up on it, a connection snapping into place.

_(“A short name, something that rolls quickly off your tongue because Skywalker is such a long name already.”_

_“Wait, the baby gets my last name? Who decided that?”_

_“Your wife, my dear-“)_

His name was Luke Skywalker and he was Vader’s. It should be impossible, but Vader knew it. He felt it in the Force, a truth so bright and perfect it threatened to shatter his mind.

His baby, his child, his son, still breathing, still alive and enslaved like his father had been, as if his mother’s blood was worth nothing.

Vader closed his fist and Jabba died, sinking into himself as all around them the screaming began. Vader didn’t care, he only had one goal. He had to get to his child, make sure he was safe, that he was alright, that he was real and _his_ to keep.

The bounty hunters and all the other scum in Jabba’s halls were no threat to Vader and they’d never be again, soon lying on the ground like broken dolls, lifeless eyes staring into nothing.

The Twi’lek woman was clinging to his son, fear written all over her face as she pressed his child’s face to her chest so he wouldn’t see. The guards’ blood stood out against her skin and she was still holding onto his child, forcing Vader away from his son.

Vader raised his lightsaber to do away with her like all the others-

“ _Please_ ,” she begged. “Master, _please_. We’ll do everything, I can dance, he’s just a child, we-”

_Are just slaves._

He depowered his lightsaber.

“Give me my child,” Vader ordered. “Now.”

Slowly, she released her hold on his son and finally gave him to Vader. He couldn’t stand upright so he fell right into Vader’s arms, unconscious by now but still here.

He was so small. So _frail_.

Had anyone else found him, he would be dead or hold over Vader’s head like a bargaining chip. He couldn’t allow this. Nobody would hurt his son ever again. His child had been supposed to be raised in the Empire’s glory, knowing that all of this had been created for him.

“You will not lose a word about what happened here,” Vader told the Twi’lek woman, not bothering to even look at her. “Jabba was a traitor to the Empire and tried to have me killed. You will tell this to everyone who asks, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” the woman stuttered.

“Then you have freed yourself. _Go_.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. With one last quick glance at his child, she ran off.

Vader slowly rose from his knees, Luke in his arms. He walked out of the palace on autopilot, mindful not to move his son and worsen his injuries. The coordinates for Mustafar were already in the system, they had to leave this planet immediately. His child wouldn’t spend another minute here.

_Luke Skywalker, child of Anakin, child of Shmi._

His perfect son, enduring hell, but surviving despite it all. He was so strong, much more than he ever should have to be. Vader had been supposed to be at his side, protect him against all harm, but he hadn’t been there because of the Emperor.

The Emperor had told him that Padmé had died. He was a liar, the reason his son had suffered needlessly and he would pay for it with his life.

“Every planet,” Vader said as he carefully pushed a strand of hair out of his son’s face. He wondered which color his hair had, his eyes. Were they a soft brown like Padmé’s or had he inherited his own sky blue ones? “Every star, every single grain of sand, it’ll all be yours as it always should have been.”

His mother had whispered those words to him every night, promises of her love and adoration. She hadn’t been able to give him more than that and perhaps Vader hadn’t deserved even that, but Luke _did_. Everything Vader could give him and more.

“Everything,” Vader repeated. “It’ll all be yours. I promise.”

He would ensure it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter today because I wanted this to be posted today.  
> I hope you liked it!  
> I'm not entirely happy with it, but I think that might just be because I have very high expectations of it. And now you finally know where the title for this fanfic came from!  
> And because I spent too much time on this [I made a Pinterest board for Luke‘s outfits](https://pin.it/3MEGXi8). And because I’m an utter idiot, I didn’t see that I forgot to link it in the chapter. But the wonderful rose-mill sketched absolutely stunning outfits for Luke a while back. [Go check it out their art is amazing!](https://jasontoddiefor.tumblr.com/post/190836363282)  
> So, that being said, what are your thoughts?


	10. Lessons on Alderaan II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter? Already?  
> I know, I know, but I was so motivated by all the comments and kudos I cried and just had to give you this.  
> Also I had Obi-Wan feels.  
> This chapter is for everyone who was already giving Obi-Wan side-eyes.  
> Set shortly after Vader found Luke. Obi-Wan is not exactly stable.

The first few days back on Alderaan passed in a haze. He knew he had all but collapsed in Breha’s arms, running low on energy. Obi-Wan had made it through the worst the war and all that Tatooine’s summers had to offer and yet he had broken down like a youngling, utterly exhausted. The Queen had put him in the same little cabin he’d lived in just a month ago and given him strict orders not to disappear.

It seemed unbelievable. Obi-Wan’s life had changed within the span of days so often, and yet he couldn’t grasp that just a month ago everything had been _alright_.

Not perfect, far from it, but alright.

He had told Beru that he’d be gone for two weeks while Owen was out working on the vaporators. She had laughed, told him not to worry and allowed him to visit Luke. The boy had been sleeping right up until Obi-Wan had stepped into his room to leave him another toy ship.

Beru had once let it slip that Luke adored the handcrafted ships much more than any other of his toys, much to Owen’s annoyance.

“Owen Lars was a good man,” Obi-Wan said quietly.

Bail took a seat next to him on the sofa. Breha had returned to the palace while Bail had stayed behind.

“He took in Luke without asking another question, loved his wife and his nephew dearly. I think, for all that he resented the pain Anakin represented, he might have loved the chance to have a brother as well.”

During the really dark days, the second year or so he had been on Tatooine, Obi-Wan had wondered whether the reason they didn’t get along was the fact that Owen Lars was an inherently good man. He was protective of his family, devoted, and wanted nothing but to see them happy. He was honorable down to the core and had even brought water and food to Obi-Wan’s meager dwellings when he had come to ask about floating toys and the kind of separation anxiety only Force-sensitive children experienced.

Owen Lars was a good man and Obi-Wan was a monster.

He’d justified all his actions in front of the Council and they had approved again and again as he committed hideous crimes in the name of the Republic and peace. Looking back, Obi-Wan knew that the Jedi had fallen from their path the moment they had stepped up to be Generals, but there hadn’t been any other options. Obi-Wan hadn’t been a proper Jedi in over a decade and that was perhaps the only reason the next words escaped him so easily.

“I hated him,” Obi-Wan admitted. “Still do. He told me to stay away so I wouldn’t get even more Skywalkers killed and I did just as he asked me to because I thought he was right.”

Bail put his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, the hold so reminiscent of the way little Leia had thrown herself around Obi-Wan’s neck on the last day he had been on Alderaan the first time around.

“It’s not your fault, Obi-Wan,” Bail said. “You cannot blame yourself.”

“But it _is_ my fault. I should have been there, begun training Luke so he’d be safer and I would know if anything happened to him. He’d already latched onto me when we had finally made it to Tatooine and that bond never broke. I should have reinforced it. I was already thinking about keeping him, raising him myself, but I thought he would be better off with his family. I walked the edge of their land so often, tempted to steal him away, but I always told myself I couldn’t give him what he needed, that he'd be safer away from me and now he’s-“

 _Dead_.

Gone.

Like everyone else. People always left him behind and not for the first time did Obi-Wan wonder what lesson the Force was attempting to teach him that he always failed it. Maybe he had never outgrown the angry thirteen-year-old child, too attached to everyone around him. The galaxy might be a better place if he hadn’t been in it. Anakin wouldn’t have been trained or maybe he would have gotten a Master who could have stopped him from falling, who’d be able to protect his children and burn the Empire to the ground.

Obi-Wan knew he couldn’t do it anymore.

“It’s not your fault,” Bail insisted. “You Jedi always had a habit of piling the weight of every star onto your backs.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled.

“It was our calling,” Obi-Wan said. “We were meant to protect every life.”

If the desert had taught him one thing, then it had shown him in perfect clarity what the Jedi should have been doing. Obi-Wan didn’t know where Palpatine’s machinations had started and ended, how many choices his Order really had been able to make in the end before they were slaughtered, but he could feel in his bruised and broken bones who they always should have been.

And who Obi-Wan never could be.

“And what is your calling now?” Bail asked.

Obi-Wan didn’t have an answer for him. He should finish what he had started all those years ago on Mustafar, show Anakin mercy and kill Vader for his Padawan. He should look for any remaining Jedi, die in the most honorable way, like a star on the verge of collapse.

He should, he should, _he should-_

He didn’t.

Sensing that Obi-Wan didn’t have an answer for him, Bail began to speak again. Alderaan’s Senator had aged, but by far not as much as Obi-Wan and yet, despite all the marks grief had left behind, Bail still managed to smile kindly.

“After you left the last time, Leia kept asking for you,” Bail said. “’When is Mister Ben coming back?’ and ‘Do you think he can tell me more stories?’ She has taken quite a liking to you and not only because you showed her how to make her books float on purpose.”

“I can’t stay here,” Obi-Wan said. “The first trip here was already a risk and this second- I never should have come back.”

Alderaan was as anti-Imperial as you could be without outright committing treason. They were under constant scrutiny and Obi-Wan couldn’t risk endangering the government of an entire planet. If even just one Imperial spy could see past the image of a haunted man, Alderaan would be made an example of.

“But you did.”

“Because I was desperate.”

The brutal honesty had become one of Obi-Wan’s most well-known companions. On Coruscant, he always had to watch his words no matter whether he spoke in front of Representative or another Jedi. People had high expectations of him and Obi-Wan had lied so often to please everyone around him that the truth the sharp winds of the last years had cut into him was terrifying but relieving.

Bail let go of Obi-Wan and with a sigh unbefitting of a royal, jabbed Obi-Wan’s ribs like they were children instead of grown men.

“You are my friend and you were Padmé’s friend,” Bail said. “You’ve been alone for a very long time, so do me a favor and honor those friendships and let us help you.”

“I’m not a good man, Bail,” Obi-Wan said. “Chaos follows me everywhere.”

Bail smiled and Obi-Wan wanted nothing more but to know how he managed it after all the horrors he had been forced to witness.

“At least this way I’ll always know where it is, instead of having to chase my daughter down.”

“Leia is a sweet child,” Obi-Wan replied.

Happy too, loved and cared for like her brother had been.

“I’m not denying that,” Bail said. “I am simply pointing out that she also happens to be an utter terror with no regard for people who do not have her particular brand of luck on their side. It must be a Jedi thing, Master Kenobi.”

“I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

“You have to be. My daughter is depending on it.”

Obi-Wan was hesitant to try. There were so many things that could go wrong and Leia was safe still and with luck, she’d never need to wield a weapon, certainly nothing more dangerous than a blaster.

But if Luke had been able to, he might still be alive and Obi-Wan didn’t have anyone left. His people had all been executed and all that remained of them were him and Leia Organa, her father’s laughter and her mother’s wit.

“I need time,” Obi-Wan said.

Time to heal and time to think and time to teach Leia to be better than the Jedi had ever been.

“Of course,” Bail agreed.

Obi-Wan could only hope she wouldn’t resent him for burdening her with the legacy of a thousand generations, that someday she might even forgive him for depriving her of the chance to share that weight with her brother.

He wasn’t sure he ever would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ canon: Oh man Obi-Wan really needs a break  
> Me, but a fanfic writer: this man has to live with the horror of war, witnessed the genocide of his people, has depression and life continues to be an utter train wreck. No break.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter! Yes, I'll cover Obi-Wan's time spent off Tatooine before the attack on the Lars farm too and then him returning too, but I figured after Vader's breakdown in the last chapter, might as well be a little kinder to Obi-Wan. As a treat. Oh, if you'd like some thoughts about Obi-Wan raising Luke, check out my [random AU snippets collection](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22955416/chapters/54872905#workskin). Also, Owen and Beru deserve better than the fandom treats them I know, big words for somebody who killed them off 10 years earlier, but those two loved Luke or Luke wouldn't have grown up to be the man he was.
> 
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Oh, and do you think I should start sorting these chapters chronologically when I have more? Let's say... 15ish?


	11. Interlude - Pooja Naberrie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update took so long, as you maybe, maybe not have noticed, I've been writing a lot of other stuff.  
> After doing a lot of math, I figured Pooja is 7 years older than the twins (according to Wookiepedia she was 20 when she was appointed Senator in 6BBY) so I had to stuff a plot hole.  
> Enjoy!

Her name was Pooja Naberrie and she was eleven when she decided her Mom should never ever have to give a speech again.

She was young, but even then she realized that her mother didn’t want to talk about Aunt Padmé or the Empire or sacrifice or all the other things she was forced to repeat endlessly. Her mother was a great orator, she told the best bedtime stories. Sola Naberrie crafted sentences together as Naboo’s most stunning painters covered canvasses with impossible images. When listening to her, Pooja felt like she could smell the sweet flowers Sola used in her metaphors, or hear the ocean roaring in the background of a clever comparison. Her mother was a bright and vibrant spirit and Pooja wanted to be just like her, so it hurt her to see her mother all dressed up for Empire Day, taking center stage in Theed’s biggest halls and speak about Aunt Padmé in shades of gray and glory, that fit in so well with the imagery the Empire had created but had very little to do with how Pooja remembered Padmé.

She wished they wouldn’t have to attend Empire Day every year. They were supposed to be remembering Padmé happily, eating her favorite fruits and releasing lanterns into the night sky, but instead, their family was dragged in front of the entire Empire to hold a speech about better futures, evil Jedi and doing what was right. The Padmé of her mother’s speeches didn’t resemble the woman her mother usually talked about. She had been a warrior Queen, the first in decades, loud and vibrant and never would have accepted the Empire’s tyranny.

Looking back, Pooja knew she had never spent as much time with her aunt as she thought he had. Padmé had been a busy person and she’d lived on Coruscant and not back in Theed with them, but nobody could forget Queen Amidala so easily. Pooja recalled how warm her smiles had been and how she used to sneak Pooja candies when her parents weren’t looking.

Pooja had been so young still when her aunt had died, but she knew that Padmé had been supposed to come home with her baby and Uncle Ani whom they were supposed to call Knight Skywalker over the holocalls, but they never really stuck to that. Pooja had been too young then to understand that the two them weren’t supposed to be married, that there were _rules_ about that kind of thing. All she had known was that her family was bigger and that Ani had been a part of it.

But Padmé had never come home. Instead, her aunt, her uncle and their baby had died and Pooja had to watch her mother give a stupid speech every year.

It made her angry, angry in a way that it worried her parents and grandparents, angry enough that she signed up for the politics track at school and got into screaming matches with her family about it.

At sixteen, Padmé had been Queen already.

Pooja didn’t want to be Queen, though she had certainly dreamed about training as a handmaiden like every other girl.

At sixteen, Pooja only had her eyes set on becoming more known than her mother. Just brave and bold enough that one day they wouldn’t push her mother on stage, but that Pooja could step up and let her mother rest. So Pooja did well in her classes, she wrote speeches and songs and poems, joined as many clubs as she could, went to every rally and paid attention to every political upheaval on Naboo and in the Core. She skipped grades and advanced and brushed past her parents’ worry with the strength of Shiraya, the goddess who had guided her aunt through troubling times and hopefully would do the same for Pooja.

The last day of her childhood started with the ring of the doorbell. It was a national holiday, the day before the official Senatorial campaigns started across the planet, and Pooja had slept in. She ate sweet bread for breakfast and didn’t bother to change out of her sleeping clothes. Her family had decided that today would be a lazy day for all of them. No work, no debates, only relaxing. Pooja had been very much on board with that. She’d stayed up all night finishing another assignment that was bound to get her involved in the Royal Court. And if not, she’d throw around her last name because Pooja was still aiming to get involved in politics. She knew how to fight dirty.

“I’m getting it,” her father said as the doorbell rang. A few moments later he returned, holding a letter and frowning. “It’s for you.”

Pooja accepted the letter and looked it over. She wasn’t expecting any mail, especially any that would go to her home address the old fashioned way, sealed off by the sign of the Royal House.

Sensing her family’s eyes on her, Pooja only shrugged. “I don’t know what that’s for either.”

Carefully, she opened the letter and took the flimsi inside out of it.

“ _Dear Pooja Neberrie, we are hereby inviting you to the Royal Palace of Theed for the Senatorial elections_ …” Pooja trailed off and read the rest of the letter in silence. She hadn’t signed up for the election, yet the letter clearly was treating her like a candidate, inviting her formally.

Sola took the letter out of her daughter’s hands and read it over, quickly frowning as well.

“Pooja,” she began to say, “did you-“

“No!” Pooja quickly interrupted her mother and jumped up, pacing across the kitchen. “I don’t want to be Senator and I’m way too young anyway.”

To make up for their young monarchs, Naboo had older, more experienced Senators. Of course, everybody could join the campaign, it would be rather ridiculous if they forbid it when their royalty were all elected children, but nobody that age ever actually had a chance.

“This must be a mistake,” her father said seriously, a hint of worry clinging to his words.

Pooja could count the times she had seen Darred Naberrie nervous or worried on two hands. Her father never liked showing how he felt, especially when he felt like it wasn’t productive to the situation.

“Probably,” Pooja agreed and went to call the Royal House to settle the issue.

It was not a mistake, she learned then, looking at the saddened face of her current queen. Pooja Naberrie was scheduled to campaign for the position as Naboo’s Senator and she was to arrive at the palace as she had been informed.

In the first moments after she’d heard the news, she was torn between fear and rage.

Pooja couldn’t possibly win the election for becoming Naboo’s Senator. She was known as a young and promising future public servant, but she wasn’t a good candidate for the second most powerful position on their planet.

In the end, it was fear that won out when she first stepped into the palace’s halls and all the other candidates, decades her senior, looked at her with barely disguised pity or anger. They all seemed to sure that she would win and Pooja desperately tried to cling to the notion that maybe this was all a mistake.

Their current Queen was her age, how was Pooja supposed to advise her on how to best proceed with ruling their planet when she had no practice doing so?

Her hopes were crushed when the Emperor sent his regards to the Naberrie family for bringing forth yet another remarkable Senator. The news arrived a day before anybody could possibly know who had actually won the election.

Pooja’s campaign had been short, local. She didn’t have enough funds and those she had were mostly spend on charities. She figured she could at least do some good with her spotlight, but in every other election it wouldn’t be enough to make her Senator.

She won anyway.

The Emperor had congratulated her on it as if he shouldn’t busy himself with a thousand different things. His homeworld or not, the Naberries, upstanding supporters of the Empire or not, he shouldn’t have the time to care about them, but he did.

The threat couldn’t be more obvious and Pooja should be mature about it, accept her fate and let only her make-up and dresses express her grief and fear, yet she couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself.

“I don’t want to go,” Pooja cried into her mother’s shirt on her last day on Naboo.

The tears wouldn’t stop falling and not even her mother’s gentle words could calm her down. She hadn’t _wanted_ this. Pooja had made plans with many steps and other contingencies to consider for her future and none of them had included being Senator at sixteen.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” Sola said and brushed her unruly brown hair out of her face. “It's just a few years and we’ll visit as often as we can. Jar Jar will be there as well, he’s a good man and you can trust him. Just follow his lead and don’t endanger yourself.”

A hundred questions wanted to escape Pooja but she couldn’t open her mouth, didn’t dare ask them because she feared what answer she would receive should she say them out loud. The Emperor had obviously rigged the campaign so that she would be elected, what would stop him from doing it a second time? Making her Senator ensured that the Emperor’s beloved Naboo wouldn’t dare step even a hairsbreadth out of line, spread traitorous words about freedom.

Naboo, whose beloved Queen Amidala had become a martyr for the Empire, whose speeches of democracy had been twisted and turned, hidden and corrupted until all that remained of Padmé Naberrie was the idea of a brilliant woman who had dreamed of peace, freedom, justice and security for the great Empire.

“I’m supposed to represent our people,” Pooja whispered when she found her voice again. She shouldn't selfish and put her own well-being above them.

“And you will do so by staying alive despite everything the Empire does to you,” her mother told her. Her embrace was so tight, Pooja felt like she couldn’t breathe, yet she’d loath if her mother dared to loosen her grip even just slightly. “You will be as brave and strong as our lakes are deep and return home to us safe and healthy. Can you promise me that, Pooja?”

Pooja nodded and then let all her tears fall again, disappearing in the bright red fabric of her mother’s clothes. Pooja had this one last night left, she would cling to her home and pray she may return to it someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm there's a lot of things in here but actually I just want to point out two things:  
> \- Padmé was stylized as a martyr of the Empire. The Jedi plan a coup and a beloved Senator of the Emperor's homeworld dies at the same time, still pregnant? 10/10 propaganda  
> \- The Naberries knew of the marriage mostly because I want Sola's kids to call Anakin "Uncle Ani" and more meta about the Handmaiden's and their relationship with Anakin but I'm writing an entire one-shot about that so there's that
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	12. Homecoming II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pls don't get used to so many quick updates, depression is making me avoid literally everything else.  
> Anyway, let's get our Father & Son duo off Tatooine, shall we?

The child slept for hours, unmoving and if not for the steady hum of the Force and the movement of his chest, Vader would have thought the boy dead. The fear clawed at his insides badly enough that he abandoned the ship entirely to the autopilot so he could sit at the child’s side.

His child, _his son._

He was named Luke. Vader had seen Padmé’s funeral, had watched its recordings countless times and visited her grave more often than he ought to. The memory of crushing her throat beneath his fingers made him want to choke. It hadn’t been supposed to be this way. It should be her orders he was following, her will he should be executing, their child they should be raising. Had she even had the chance to name him or had that right be stolen from them as well?

Someone must have brought Luke to Tatooine, told him of his heritage, but who would? Certainly not Kenobi, _no_. He had buried Anakin Skywalker, betrayed him and left him for dead like every Jedi. Obi-Wan hadn’t known love, wouldn’t know its shape if he were forced to describe it.

His son stirred.

Vader had wanted to take him out of the dirty clothes, but he had nothing else on board but one change of Trooper armor. He supposed the undersuit could be adjusted. His child shouldn’t be dressed in filth. Had Vader raised him, Luke wouldn’t know the feeling of rough garbs on his skin, the durable, harsh clothes Anakin had loathed so much on Tatooine and had been more than happy to burn when he’d gotten to the Jedi Temple.

“Sleep,” Vader ordered and then, hesitantly, reached out to the boy in body and spirit.

He carefully put his hand on Luke’s chest, felt it rise and fall beneath his palm. His son was still breathing, he was well. OF course, the med droid on board and its readings had confirmed as much as well, but machines, no matter how well crafted, could never make up for flesh or the precision of the Force.

Luke was injured, but not so much that bacta wouldn’t be able to heal him. He had plenty of that on Mustafar, as well as discretion. Nobody could know of Luke, the Emperor would ruin his son with his lies as he had brought Vader’s ruin. Sidious would never even step into the same room as his son, Vader would ensure it by all means possible.

Reaching out to Luke with his mind was easier and more difficult at the same time. He was not lacking a limb now, but at the same time it felt like it. Vader’s presence had always burned others. It was the reason brute mindtricks had never worked well on him, he usually felt it when others cut themselves on the harsh fragments of glass Vader surrounded his mind with. When he attempted the same nowadays, it was usually to tear through memories and cause as much damage and pain as he could.

Vader couldn’t recall the last time he had been gentle to anyone.

But Luke’s mind was already in tatters. Wide-open like a traumatized youngling whose defenses had been torn to shreds. Should Vader delve in like this, he would only hurt his child more. He needed true peace and calm, but he hadn’t sought either in almost a decade. It simply hadn’t been possible with the way his body and mind ached, the rage and anger he contained and couldn’t and didn’t want to let go of. It made him stronger, he needed it if he were to destroy Sidious for his lies and yes, now, watching his child struggle to breathe, they could not aid him.

He needed to know how well his son was fairing though. The droids and scans couldn’t tell him what damage those worthless bastards had done to Luke’s mind. His cry in the Force had been so terrible Vader had mistaken it for his own. The last time he’d witnessed such horror-

It was better not to dwell.

Vader opened his mind to the Force and its many perceptions. The Jedi had never truly understood how it worked. They’d always spoken about listening for its whispers and signs, never what to do when an entire orchestra was playing in your mind, each strand of fate occupied with another destiny, another tone, and all of them were determined to make him listen.

Luke’s melody was a silent one, stuttering and not yet settled, but already with so much promise. His son was powerful, as Vader had known he would be. There was no thinking what would have happened had Vader not found him. It was unacceptable to consider that Jabba would have diminished this light.

Carefully, so much more gently than Vader ever had, he attempted to follow Luke’s song. And then, like he had walked miles in the desert and was starved for water, Luke pulled back. His grip was clumsy, unpracticed, untrained. He likely never had felt another Force-sensitive reach out and now latched onto the contact. Vader let himself be pulled along, dragged deep down into a memory, until he crashed onto an imaginary ground.

Dust settled in his lungs and he was forced to cough. Sand stuck to his hands and scalp unpleasantly and even though it was imaginary, instinctively Vader reached out to brush it out of his hair.

He disliked the sensation. Even in his own meditations, he hardly could banish Skywalker’s image. It seemed to taunt him whenever he relived his own memories. Brushing sand off his dark robes, Vader stood up. They didn’t look like Jedi robes, nor anything he was used to wearing, but this wasn’t his mind. His image merely shaped by how Luke perceived him.

Looking around, Vader found that he was standing in a room that was tainted by bitter memories for him. This was the farm his mother had lived at, where she had been buried. It would be so easy to fall into that anger again, but instead his attention was caught by the machinery scattered around the floor. Droid parts, clumsily attached like whoever had worked on them hadn’t been too skilled at it, yet. A mere beginner slowly learning how to work. Amongst the metal also laid ship models, carved out of japor wood and painted colorfully. These were children’s toys, Vader realized.

It made sense that they would be here, in Luke’s mind. His son must have grown up with his grandmother’s chosen family, and yet, looking at them, Vader was amazed. He picked one of the ship models up and was astonished by how infused it was with _joy, happiness, light_ and _home_. The emotions were so vibrant, they felt like old wounds tearing open again. He quickly dropped the ship again and it clattered to the ground.

“That’s mine.”

Vader turned around to the other end of the room. The boy standing there was tanned, from Tatooine’s suns no questions about that, and his hair was as light as spun gold. His eyes, big and weary, were as blue as Naboo’s lakes, the same color Vader’s eyes used to be. Through Vader’s red-tinted lenses, he hadn’t been able to perceive his son in such a way, but now he never wanted to look away from him.

His son was all his and Padmé’s endless hours of dreaming of their child given from. So many precious late nights and early mornings, before and after the nightmares, they’d laughed and whispered about it. They’d dared to imagine how their precious child would look and he was perfect, more than Vader had ever imagined, perhaps already just because he was _alive_.

Living, as reality had taught him, was the hardest trial to endure.

“Did you make it?” Vader heard himself ask as the toy ship floated into Luke’s arms.

It was strange to notice that his voice sounded as it used to, that speaking didn’t cause him pain.

“No.” Luke shook his head. “It was a gift.”

“From whom?”

“I don’t know.”

Vader imagined catching a flicker of _regret, love_ and _melancholy_ , but it wasn’t enough to get a clear image. Their surroundings began to flicker as Luke grew unsure. The feeling of darkness and fear slowly trickled into the room.

“Are you staying?” Luke asked, clutching the toy as if it were made from soft fabric instead of hard wood. Then, more desperate, he added, “I don’t want to be alone again.”

“I’m never leaving you again,” Vader vowed.

He’d burn down the galaxy before he let anything or anyone separate him from his son again.

Vader slowly sunk to his knees, bowed not in front of his despised Master, but his dear beloved child. Luke apparently understood the gesture for what it was and promptly flung himself into Vader’s arms. He buried his head in the crook of Vader’s neck, hiding away his face.

“I knew you’d come,” Luke stuttered out in-between sobs. “I _always_ knew you’d come back for me.”

“Of course,” Vader agreed. “It was the will of the Force.”

The Force had reunited them and it would lead them from now onwards. Vader could feel his son’s natural shields slowly repairing and yet they weren’t throwing him out. His son was well, the slavers’ torment hadn’t fractured his mind as he had assumed. Reassured of Luke’s health, Vader decided he must turn to consciousness.

“Come on now, young one. It is time to wake up.”

It was time they met face-to-face outside of dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	13. The Senate I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anon Asked: Idea for Tiny Emperor Luke AU: Luke is really tired when he goes to senate one day and just falls asleep and someone tucks a blanket around him and all the holonet reporters just have a giant freak out.
> 
> This was supposed to be 500 words. #nailed it

The young Emperor’s appearance in the Senate was still a sight that made people uncomfortable. Of course, whether it was due to the child dressed in the finest clothes to be found in the Empire or the small army of Stormtroopers following him was another question. Never mind that Vader wouldn’t move an inch from his son’s side. It had become quite apparent that Vader still didn’t particularly care about politics, but he clearly paid attention to every word said in his son’s presence, waiting for someone to speak treasonous poison and give him an excuse to get rid of them. Already, multiple sections of the Army had deserted, seeking to establish their own territories. Some smaller groups had even found their way to the Rebellion. It was clear that this equilibrium wouldn’t last, but no discussion had been held out in the open yet. Vader was still on Coruscant, the longest he had ever been since the Empire’s creation, and he didn’t look like he wanted to leave the planet. If they were to keep the Empire together, however, he’d soon need to move and remind everyone why it was better to stay with the Empire.

Bail was split on the decision. He wouldn’t risk treason, he couldn’t do that to Alderaan, but unlike many of his colleagues, he also wasn’t exactly in favor of the galaxy splitting up. There were reasons the Republic had been created in the first place, blood and war and slaughter to name a few. Perhaps they were able to set up a Republic space, but for how long would that last with crime running wild? No, Bail would rather align himself with an Empire reimaged. The speech the Emperor had given on his coronation day had been impressive and awoken hope. Bail shouldn’t doubt that someone different had written it for the child to memorize beforehand, and yet-

_“Emperor Palpatine had promised us an age of glory and peace, and yet, I see a terror lingering in every corner of the galaxy.”_

Luke Amidala had certainly left an impression.

Beyond that, he had shown up to the Senate more often in the past weeks than Palpatine had in the past decade. Dutifully, he had attended every larger session, taking notes on a small datapad one of his attendants carried for him, and recently he had taken to visiting the various committees. Bail himself had shown up early in the morning today and the young Emperor had arrived soon after. Since the morning, the Senate had been abuzz with hectic energy, nobody wanting to offend the Emperor. Truly, the Senate felt like a stage even more than it ever had before.

“Your Majesty, I am merely suggesting returning to the palace at this hour.”

“It is the last meeting, Fox. I’m staying.”

Surprised to hear the Emperor’s voice, Bail turned into the next hallway where his immigration committee was supposed to meet. The young boy was standing right in front of the door Bail was going to enter, surrounded by his guard platoon and his attendants, very obviously missing the Sith Lord usually at his side.

“Your Majesty,” Bail greeted with a bow, slowly approaching the group. “Good evening.”

It was best not to startle the platoon, especially when Vader wasn’t around.

“Senator Organa!” The youth returned the greeting cheerily. “I’m very glad to meet you. I’ve been wanting to attend your session today.”

Today was severely underestimating the late hour. Bail himself would prefer to be home now, having been up since morning. The Emperor as well didn’t appear to be as awake as he ought to be. He had bags under his eyes, exhaustion and stress likely getting to him. Bail knew even Leia with her sheer endless energy would be tired by now, cranky and wishing to go home.

“The meeting we’re about to hold now?” Bail inquired.

Luke’s two attendants looked quite unhappy at the idea, but the boy only smiled and nodded. “Yes, it is the last point on my itinerary for today.”

“Is Lord Vader to join us as well?”

The boy obviously tried to keep a neutral expression, but a hint of anxiety shown through. Bail forced himself not to just grab the boy that had been supposed to be his son as well and run away with him. It was hard to see whether Vader had done any harm to him, but in a moment like this, there was no telling whether Luke’s anxiety was because he wanted Vader to be here or was afraid of what would happen to him should he disapprove of any decisions the boy made in his absence.

“No,” Luke finally answered. “My father has some matters to discuss with the army.”

So perhaps Bail had been right and time had run out. Vader could certainly attempt to organize a strike while staying on Coruscant, but that would never be as effective as personally leading a battalion. Vader was notoriously a frontline fighter, earning himself the loyalty of the Troopers and those of the brass who hadn’t bought their way in.

“I’ll be honored to invite you to our session then, your Majesty,” Bail said.

Luke smiled in turn, almost shyly and Bail entered the room in front of them. The Immigration Committee was made up by Empire loyalists and Alliance members and the galaxy’s usually crooked criminals. Moving people around was a painful but lucrative business. Alderaan had seen many immigrants in the last years due to their more lax policies so keeping an overview of the galaxy’s general movements had been a good idea. Everyone in the room froze when Luke entered and consequently took a seat at the head of the table. They didn’t really let out a breath when the Trooper finally closed the door behind everyone else and Vader didn’t step inside as well, but they certainly relaxed a little.

“Senator Kavenah, you are the head of this committee,” the Emperor addressed the man to Bail’s right.

Illem Kavenah was thankfully somebody Bail could rely on. The other Senator was as obviously anti-imperial as you could be.

“Yes, your Majesty,” Kavenah replied and rose to his feet. “Shall I give you an overview of the responsibilities of this committee or have you informed yourself of such already?”

The Senator sitting across Kavenah, strict imperial loyalist, looked like he was gasping for breath. It was understandable. Kabenah’s words could be very easily misunderstood as an insult. Knowing the other man, there was actually a quite high possibility that he had meant his words to be understood as such. He’d probably also be bold enough to say them regardless of Vader’s presence.

“I have been unable to do so until now, Senator,” Luke replied, still in a good mood. The boy probably hadn’t even heard the biting undertone. “I’ve been attending…” The boy stopped, as if to count. “Seven different sessions today. It was all a little hectic. I’d be very thankful if you could give me an overview of your activities.”

If the boy had truly attended as many meetings as that, it was a wonder he was still standing on his two feet. Bail knew enough people who were exhausted after four sessions. Seven was an extraordinarily high number.

Kavenah studied the Emperor a moment longer, then slowly began talking in a manner the boy could keep up with while taking his notes. He only asked a few questions in the beginning, then, as the evening proceeded, grew more and more silent. After a while it became apparent how difficult it was for the boy to keep his eyes open. His posture, perfectly straight and upright at the beginning, was now falling into itself. Bail was not ashamed to admit he only paid a quarter of his attention to the actual discussion while the rest was focused on Luke.

He was so young.

Leia still had two baby teeth she was determined to have lost by the time Bail returned to Alderaan. For all that she could walk and talk and sit like a proper princess, her mother’s influence no doubt, Leia was still a child and Bail hoped she’d remain so a little while longer. The burdens Vader had willingly placed on Luke’s shoulders weighted too much for his small frame.

He was half hanging over his datapad as his eyes closed once more, only this time he didn’t open them again. The discussion forgotten, Bail watched at the young Emperor’s breathing evened out and he fell into a light sleep. It was already incredibly late, way past the bedtime for a child. The debate carried on but then, slowly, became less and less engaged as more and more participants noticed that their ruler had fallen asleep.

The Troops standing behind his chair as well as his two attendants looked rather clueless and unsure as what to do with the situation. Luke stayed relatively still, but every once in a while he shivered. Nobody dared to say anything or touch him to wake him up.

It was ridiculous.

They were all holding their breaths because their ten-year-old Emperor had fallen asleep on them after a long day and nobody knew what to do now while the kid.

Sighing, Bail pushed back his chair and stood up. He unclasped the cape from his shoulders and walked over to the group assembled behind the sleeping boy.

“You might want to make sure he doesn’t catch a cold,” he told the Trooper in charge and handed him the cape.

Bail got the impression that the man was staring blankly at him, then he accepted the cape and carefully draped it over Luke’s shoulders. Bail returned to his seat and, when he noticed everyone was staring at him, cleared his throat.

“I believe we were discussing the aid that should be given to refugees of planets with a lot of natural disasters happening regularly?”

After that the discussion picked up again and they were back to discussing the actual points they had come together to speak about. Bail’s attention was still partially on the sleeping child, but he wasn’t the only one. People at least didn’t look outright upset or annoyed at the distraction. Even Kavenah only appeared to be amused. The meeting proceeded and was only interrupted once more when they were only repeating everything that had already been said.

The door didn’t smack open, but the oppressive aura of the man entering certainly gave the impression. Vader’s attention immediately darted to Luke sleeping. He marched over to the boy and then, with a gentleness neither Bail nor anyone else in the room expected, he picked Luke up. He took Bail’s cape off his shoulders and in turn tugged his own around Luke’s frame.

The Emperor didn’t even wake up from the movement, he merely put his arms around Vader and continued sleeping.

“Meeting adjourned,” Vader ordered and left the room as quickly as possible without jostling his son, their entourage following them.

Now everyone was quick to pick up their belongings and leave the room as well, as if Vader’s presence still lingered in the room and they wanted to escape it. Bail took his time assembling what he had brought to the table and was one of the last to leave the room.

He picked his discarded cape up from the ground and folded it, then stuck it in his bag and made his way home.

X

When Bail woke up in the morning, the city was as busy as always. He took a few minutes to enjoy his caf in peace, then checked his messages. There were a lot of requests for interviews strangely, but Bail decided to look at them later as they were not so important now. After he had finished his caf, he decided to see what news he had missed during the night. They had been running very interesting stories lately. A few reports nobody would have dared to publish during Palpatine’s reign were now showing up.

The headlines he read today, the pictures displayed all over the holonet, were all about the same thing though.

“Oh, dear,” Bail muttered as he skimmed the articles.

Somebody had gotten access to the recordings of yesterday’s session. It happened regularly enough. The galaxy was a big place and there were enough determined slicers, but that they had found these particular recordings was troublesome.

Well, at least it would be easier to twist the images of an exhausted child fallen asleep into good PR than an old man giving the order for yet another genocide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Illem Kavenah is an OC from another Star Wars story I'm working on. And he's not even a real OC he's a fictional figure in the SW universe that I grew attached to. OC in an OC story for SW.
> 
> Thank you for your many comments! I hope you enjoyed this chapter (even tho I didn't edit it. at all. maybe later.)
> 
> Also, by the way, should I post the random stuff I write that doesn't exactly fit into what's going on plot wise/has no actual plot but is set in this universe in this story here as well or drop it in a separate story and make it all a series?
> 
> As always, feel free to come bother me [on Tumblr!](https://jasontoddiefor.tumblr.com/)


	14. Lessons on Alderaan III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tfw you thought you had already posted a chapter-  
> Anyway, this is set after chapter 10.

When Leia had heard that Mister Ben was going to come back to Alderaan, she had been excited. He had been so much fun to be around the first time! While sitting still for hours had been a little boring, he had also taught her how to keep her anger inside and make her toys float. So now the new mirror in Leia’s room wouldn’t break and she could make her toys soar through the skies. She wasn’t allowed to do so anywhere she could be seen, but that was fine by her. Leia didn’t want to be seen. She was a Rebel Princess, a super-secret spy. When she sneaked through the palace, her new skills allowed her to remain mostly undetected.

And when she was spotted, she could just let the chocolate fly above everyone’s heads so they wouldn’t see why she had sneaked out of her rooms in the middle of the night. It had been on one of her trips through the palace that she had heard her parents whisper about Ben again. A voice, humming low and sweet, had guided her path that night. Leia didn’t always follow it, but when she did, the best things happened.

So when she had spotted her parents, she had stayed very silent as she listened and hid when her parents had walked around the corner. Leia also quickly figured out the day Ben arrived on Alderaan. Her father had promised to spend the afternoon with her before, but then suddenly didn’t have time anymore despite his schedule being empty. Leia had used her super-secret spy skills to figure out he was with Ben.

After that, it could only be a question of time.

Only, the time never came.

First days passed, then weeks and then almost an entire _month_. Leia wanted to see Ben again and listen to his many adventurous stories. She was sure he had been to many planets. Nobody was able to paint such a clear picture without actually having seen it.

Princesses were patient. They didn’t speak out of tune, they watched and observed and then dealt out one devastating strike when nobody expected it. Leia wasn’t a very patient person. She also wasn’t very good at staying silent. She wanted the whole galaxy to know what she thought, but she understood how important it was at times to keep silent. Leia waited and waited for her parents to bring up Ben, but they never did in front of her. Meanwhile, Leia could feel the voice speaking again. It was singing a very low and slow song that made her want to hide in her mother’s skirts.

But Leia was a princess and princesses didn’t hide. They were brave and strong and smart.

Leia figured that her timing was essential on this mission. When her family was finally having a dinner together again, just the three of them, Leia decided the timing was right.

“When can I finally see Ben?” She asked politely.

Or maybe it hadn’t been as polite as she’d hoped for, seeing how her mother’s eyes widened in alarm.

“Darling-“ Her father started in soft, placating tones, but Leia wouldn’t have it.

“He’s here,” she insisted. “I know it, I can _feel_ it. So why can’t I see him? Doesn’t he like me anymore?”

Her father studied her for a moment, then he sighed and turned to look at Breha, who was smiling sadly. Leia had never seen her mother look so old. She was a queen, always perfectly posed and never one to show such emotions. But right now she did.

“Come here, sweetheart,” her mother said.

Leis scrambled off her chair and rushed to her mother’s side. She climbed onto her lap and let her run her fingers through Leia’s soft brown locks.

“He really is here,” Leia insisted.

“He is,” Breha agreed. “But things are a little difficult. A lot of bad people are after Ben, so we have to make sure he’s safe.”

Leia crossed her arms in front of her chest. She understood that. They had to keep Ben safe last time as well and nothing had gone wrong. In fact, everything had been perfect.

“But we were protecting him last time. Everything was fine then.”

“Yes, it was,” Breha agreed. “But Ben is hurting a lot now.”

Leia frowned. That didn’t explain anything. Why couldn’t her parents just say what was really going on?

“Can’t the doctors take a look at him?” She asked then.

Whenever she got hurt exploring, her parents or her nurses checked to make sure she hadn’t seriously injured herself. They always took good care of her, they would be able to heal Ben as well.

“It’s not that kind of hurt,” her father said. “Ben lost somebody very important to him and you remind him a lot of him so he isn’t sure if seeing you would be such a good idea.”

From her father’s intonation, Leia could tell that he didn’t agree.

“Can I help him in a different way then?” Leia asked. “Maybe write him a card?”

Her parents wrote a lot of cards, especially after very bad or very good things had happened. Leia hadn’t really done so before, but she was sure that she could borrow her father’s expensive and pretty writing set and make a card for Ben.

Her parents smiled encouragingly at her.

“I’m sure that’s a good idea. I think Ben would enjoy hearing from you.”

That settled it then, Leia would write Ben a card. She jumped off her mother’s lap, prepared to rush off to her rooms and immediately get started on her new project. Her card had to be perfect. Maybe she could attach some pretty art to it or pick some flowers for Ben and stick them into the envelope. Everybody loved flowers and the palace gardens had some of the most beautiful in the whole galaxy. Leia hadn’t seen the whole galaxy yet, not even a lot of it, but everybody who visited always praised their gardens, so she supposed that they must be amongst the prettiest at least.

“Leia, love, where are you going?” Her mother asked.

“To my room,” Leia replied. “I’ll write Ben’s card.”

“Don’t you have a plate to finish first?”

Leia pulled a face. She wasn’t even that hungry anymore and helping Ben was her new priority. She could away eat afterward, but Ben’s letter needed to be finished soon. Seeing that her parents wouldn’t budge on it, Leia returned to her chair and let out a sigh. She looked at her vegetable gratin and picked around in it.

She supposed she could eat a few vegetables if it meant she could write Ben his card, make him feel better and then finally meet him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Writing smol Leia was fun! She's excited about Obi-Wan and just wants to help him.


	15. Hutt War II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: No more plot strands until I finished the last ones  
> Anons on tumblr: So, Biggs, huh?

Biggs Darklighter was fifteen years old and he still dreamed of going to the stars someday. He was a good son, helped in the household, and took care of his younger siblings, and would his parents ask him to stay, then Biggs would. If they’d let him go though, Biggs would seek the unknown parts of the galaxy, chase after the adventures he had dreamed of ever since he was a little boy, running around in the courtyard of his family’s home or jumping up and down on Luke’s bed, pretending to be a ship in the sky.

It was strange how easily he had accepted Luke’s disappearance when he was younger. Tatooine was a harsh planet, cruel to the bone, and the death of a loved one happened far too often to be unfamiliar with how tightly life and death were woven together. He hadn’t forgotten about Luke, had mourned his friend and joined his mother on her trips to the Lars homestead, but he hadn’t let Luke’s fate dominate his every waking thought. There had been other things to worry about, such as the suddenly escalating conflicts due to Jabba’s death.

Now it seemed like the exact opposite was happening to Biggs. He couldn’t keep his friend out of his mind. The weekly trips to the Lars homestead, checking in on its state and the refugees hiding there for the next transport that would them smuggle off-world, were now spent trying to see whether Biggs could find any sign of _His Imperial Highness_ in the murals and carvings they had made into Luke’s bedroom walls as children. He had been there when they had found Beru and Owen’s bodies, eleven years old and wondering whether Luke had made used of his uncanny ability to hide away so that he hadn’t been killed too. His aunt and uncle had been half-buried in the sand already, left behind to rot without a proper funeral. It had been easy to figure out what exactly had caused their deaths and what it meant for Luke. In the aftermath, when the news of Jabba’s violent end had reached even the Darklighters, they had traveled to the palace and the nearby city once, trying to see if anybody had heard of a child by the name of Luke Skywalker, but nobody had known a thing.

And then, just a year later, Luke had appeared again.

The Republic had never really cared about Tatooine and neither had the Empire, but even they had heard rather quickly about the Emperor’s death and his heir.

The Luke in the holos had looked like a doll, fake and imaginary, like a wind spirit. His face hadn’t been any different, it still matched the one Biggs remembered, but nothing else seemed to fit, not his name, not even his accent.

And yet he had been sure that the child appearing in front of the Senate was his friend.

All that had remained from Luke Skywalker were his blue eyes, the blond hair and the kindness that had made the other children scoff at him. Luke had been too good to understand, to naïve or perhaps he just hadn’t cared for their petty words. Biggs hadn’t known how he could smile so openly when the others took their teasing to far, but Luke had never lowered his head, at least not where he could see it.

Biggs missed his best friend, the one who would help him fix up old droids and fly speeders and skyhoppers more accurately than anybody else, even though he really shouldn’t be able to do so. Luke would certainly have the time of his life now, rushing across the sands at maximum speed, the wind hitting his face so harshly it almost cut into it. Luke had always enjoyed listening to the wind, from the sweet breezes in spring to the heavy sandstorms towards the end of drought season. Being stuck inside with nothing to do hadn’t been too bad with Luke around to narrate what the wind was telling him.

The distance between the Darklighter homestead and the Lars’ Rest, as they had come to call that safehouse, wasn’t too large. Biggs crossed it quickly even in his slightly beat-up ride that could use an upgrade or two. As far as he knew, no runaways should be staying there for the remainder of the week until they got the next group through. There were fewer and fewer slaves in need of transport nowadays. Tatooine was still, as it had been for the last years since Luke’s disappearance, caught in civil war between the former Hutt slaves, freedom fighters, whatever good soul they could convince to join their cause and those crime syndicates who sought to make use of cheap labor. Where the Hutts had that thought they could reclaim Tatooine quickly following Jabba’s death, Tatooine had wanted to prove them wrong. More and more slaves had escaped every day, more people stood up to fight for what they believed to be right.

Biggs wasn’t allowed to do much, not really. His older sister and her partners were heavily involved in the fights while Biggs could only do supply runs. He knew they were important, but he itched to do something more proactive.

But perhaps that wouldn’t be necessary anymore.

It had become more and more obvious that the Hutts were also a thorn in the side of the Empire and whoever was actually pulling the strings behind their Emperor was set to do something about it. There had been skirmishes so far, a few imprisonments. Nothing too large yet, but the horizon was darkening and if the last years had shown anything, then that the Empire didn’t tolerate disobedience. Biggs wasn’t sure how it would influence Tatooine at large. He didn’t know all that much about the way the Hutts operated on a galactic scale, but he figured that whatever took their attention away from Tatooine, even if just for a while, was good.

Soon Biggs was approaching Lars’ Rest and was surprised to see figures standing in the distance. Biggs frowned and slowed down his craft. He was absolutely certain that no group should be coming in today. The position of Lars’ Rest was kept quiet so that no slaver would discover this particular hideout. The only other groups that knew of it were smugglers and the sand people, though they hardly bothered coming down the underground tracks these days. They had decided to target moisture farms far deeper into their territory or, in the case of some clans who were not as isolated, target the rich of Tatooine so the poor would cease trying to expand further into the desert.

Biggs reached for his rifle. If they were slavers, he had to be ready. It was obvious that he was doing supply runs, who else would be out here, and if they took him, that could be disastrous for the whole organization.

Tatooine was a horrible planet to plan an ambush on. Sand for miles, the open desert, and skies, nothing could hide you or provide adequate cover. Once your enemy spotted you, that was it.

Biggs could of course leave, drive back home. They didn’t keep anything too incriminating at their homestead, so even if they were to follow him, there was be nothing to be found there. And yet, somehow, Biggs couldn’t bring himself to do so as anger flared up in his stomach like the midday heat.

That house had belonged to his best friend. It was supposed to be a safe haven now when before its inhabitants had found death or worse. Nobody had any right to ruin those memories.

With newfound bravery and strength, Biggs sped up again. He was a good shot, the best in his family, he’d definitely hit them before they could shoot him.

As Biggs got closer, he saw that the group was larger than he had thought at first. Ten, perhaps fifteen figures. He had been confused because their forms had not been easy to make out with the sun bearing down on their light uniforms, _no_ , armor. The armor was mostly white, but some patterns appeared to have been drawn on it. He saw the green ones first, their color standing out the most against the yellow and blue background of Tatooine. Then there some men with blue, orange, and red patterns, those being much harder to see. Biggs’ eyes were good, but not that excellent.

Nevertheless, he readied his rifle. It was easy to get stormtrooper uniform, and to paint it in the color of the Emperor’s guard was even easier.

Biggs took aim. He wasn’t going to shoot unprovoked, but he was going to shoot first if the situation escalated.

“Hey!” He shouted once he was within hearing distance. “Get the hell out of here!”

As expected, the armed men immediately raised their weapons as well. Biggs didn’t know why they hadn’t done that the moment they had seen him. Now that he was standing in front of them, Biggs wasn’t so sure his move had been the smartest. There were way too many of them and only one him.

“Move away,” one of the troopers, a red one, said.

His armor looked pristine, the paint new. This has to be a trick, though he no idea what somebody would get from parading around in trooper armor here. There were certainly more effective ways to pretend to have more power than you actually did on this planet.

“This land doesn’t belong to you,” Biggs said, forcing his voice not to waver. “Move.”

“Listen here, kid,” one of the troopers said, then suddenly stopped talking. Another man had put his hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned forward, probably telling him something. Even though Biggs couldn’t see their faces, they didn’t look too concerned by it all

“I’m not joking!” Biggs insisted and raised his blaster just a little more, set on using it if need be. “I will-“

“Biggs?”

The voice was barely louder than a whisper, certainly not above the noise the wind and the engine were making, and yet Biggs still heard it clearly.

“Your Majesty-“ The red trooper hissed, but in between the trooper’s bodies, a smaller form pushed through.

The person was short, but not as by far not as tall as the holos made him out to be. His hair had darkened as well, wasn’t the light blond Biggs remembered, but the eyes, clear blue, were definitely the same.

 _“Luke?”_ Biggs couldn’t believe it.

His clothes were far too fine for Tatooine, at least for standing outside where sand could easily get stuck everywhere on your skin. His robes looked soft and were decorated with gold and red lines interconnecting to images reminiscent of flowers and vines.

The boy's face split into a smile and he looked like he’d jump into a sprint if not for the trooper’s hand on his shoulder.

“Biggs! It really is you!” Luke said excitedly. “I didn’t think I’d see you again. I was hoping someone would look after the farm, but I-“

He cut himself off to shake his head, a gesture so familiar that it had to be Luke standing in front of him, brilliant pilot, Emperor of the galaxy.

Biggs hurried off his speeder and fell to his knees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!


	16. Homecoming III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I was delayed by nano and other stuff.  
> But one more chapter and the "Homecoming Arc" (as I've decided to call Vader finding Luke) is gonna be finished!  
> And yeah I went back to titling stuff by arc bc you can figure out p well what is happening when so. Yeah.  
> TW for vomiting, slight suicidal thoughts. Luke is 9 and wakes up in an unfamiliar place assuming he's a slave. He's not having a great time.

Luke woke up incredibly slowly. He felt as if he’d been up all night, kept awake by the harsh noise of the sandstorms outside. Awareness returned to him slowly. The bed he was lying on soft, much softer than anything he was used to. When he tried to open his eyes, bright lights assaulted him. It was like staring into the suns directly without any glasses for protection. Instinctively, Luke pulled up one arm to cover his eyes and found that it had been bandaged entirely. For all that his head hurt and felt like dust was clouding his mind, Luke didn’t feel like he was in pain. There should be no need to bandage him, he hadn’t been injured-

Blood.

Silence.

Screams, storms, _I’m freeborn, you can’t-_

Luke doubled over, throwing up the meager contents of his stomach. He hadn’t eaten in a week or so? There had been water and bugs and brown mush. The food Jabba had given to his slaves was nothing like the stews Aunt Beru used to make for him and now would never cook again.

She was dead, like Uncle Owen. They had been _killed_.

And Luke had been taken, because he was special, could make his toy ships fly and dreamed of faraway palaces, and when he asked, the desert and its storms listened to him.

He was not at Jabba’s anymore. Luke looked around, trying to figure out where he had gone. There had been a man that much Luke remembered. He had been dressed in black, like the runners hurrying in the dead of night, stopping at the homestead to remove trackers and get water.

Luke wiped his mouth clean of the spit, then, with his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked around. He was in a pretty luxurious room. The walls were painted in a dark red color with golden and black embellishments. The bed he was lying on was very fancy too, soft like no other fabric on Tatooine except the pleasure slave’s garments had been. It didn’t feel real beneath his touch, more like something out of a dream or a nightmare.

A rift tore open in his mind; doubt and fear stretched out their arms for him.

This wasn’t good, not at all.

Nothing inside here looked even remotely like it might have been from Tatooine at one point, nothing but Luke with his sunburnt skin. Had he been sold off-world without realizing it?

He felt the panic take choke him again, stealing away all his words. Once you were sold off-world, you were gone for good. If Luke was still on Tatooine, he could have found his way back to the homestead, or perhaps to Biggs at east. He was sure they’d take him in, hide him too, maybe. But if he wasn’t even on Tatooine anymore, he didn’t know anybody. No connections, no orientation – Luke was as lost as a slave could be. That was without taking any other possible obstacles into consideration, such as language. Luke’s Basic was good, but what if they didn’t even speak Basic here or forbid the slaves from communicating in it.

Looking down at himself, Luke couldn’t see any chains holding him down. He had no idea whether a tracker had been implanted beneath his skin, but he could always figure that out. He just needed to get his hands on a droid capable of doing scans and he could do it.

_He had to._

Luke Skywalker was not going to be a slave. It was flight or fight. He had been freeborn, and he had clung to his name like nothing else. He hadn’t inherited anything else from his father. It was all he had, and he’d honor it and would not bow his head to any _Master_ presenting themself to Luke.

There would not be another slave carrying his family’s name.

With newfound strength, Luke swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Standing was difficult, with him not having too much sensation in either limb. At first, he thought he would just topple over, but Luke forced his body into obedience to avoid falling. He had to be silent like the spirits, couldn’t alarm anybody of his presence here.

He took a careful step forwards, then another, and, once he was sure that he could keep going, he ran to the nearest door. The room had no windows, so he couldn’t check where he was precisely in this building, but Luke also couldn’t spot any cameras. Once he was outside, he could perhaps figure out which planet he was on, at least. That would certainly make it all easier.

When Luke pressed down the door handle, he was relieved to learn that the door hadn’t been locked. Whoever had bought him, they hadn’t owned too many slaves yet, too many born outside of captivity anyway.

Or perhaps they had no need for locked doors inside their compound.

The thought made his stomach turn.

Luke wasn’t stupid.

He knew exactly how much he was worth. His family had to be aware of it if they wanted to pay the appropriate water tax. Luke was- _had been_ an expensive child to raise on Tatooine. Young, smart, cute in a way that might mean he’d grow up _pretty_. Luke knew it wasn’t the compliment people pretended it was.

He slowly opened the door and checked through its slit whether he could spot any people, droids or guards, but the hallway the door was connected to was empty.

He wanted to yell excitedly about this small victory, but he reminded himself to stay _quiet_. Now he only needed to know which way to go. He thought of the storms of his dreams, the way he’d reach out with his right hand, so _close_ to touching what laid behind the horizon, and then decided to pick the right side.

Pressed as closely to the wall as he could, Luke walked down the hallway. There was no place to hide should he be found and captured. All he had were his wits and the two-legs he hoped he could run for his life on.

Then, finally, Luke heard noises. It didn’t sound like people or droids, more like something you’d hear from outside. The next turn also appeared to color the corridor in lighter tones. Gathering all his bravery, Luke turned around the corner. The compound walls finally had windows, but Luke now also understood why they were so sparingly and why there were no guards around.

 _Lava_.

Wherever he was, the entire place was covered by lava.

Running away during a sandstorm on Tatooine was already insane, but getting away from here appeared to be even more impossible. Though he tried to suppress it, sobs began to shake his small frame. This wasn’t fair; this couldn’t be it.

Luke walked towards the windows, opened one up, and was immediately assaulted by the heat capable of burning your very flesh from the bone. It was unbearable, even for someone like him who was used to the sun wanting to kill you at every hour of the day.

And yet, leaning out of the window, Luke considered whether jumping wouldn’t be worth it. His feet were bare, but there was some stone. Perhaps he could make his getaway if he just ran fast enough. Maybe he’d grow wings like the heroes of his childhood stories and fly away into the dark sky above.

He leaned forward even more and-

-was immediately ripped away from the window by his collar.

“Are you insane!?” a demon roared.

Luke froze and raised his hands above his head, trying to shield it when he was put to the ground again, large hand still holding him in place.

“You could have gotten hurt, you could have _died_. Don’t do that ever again!”

Luke’s eyes were squeezed shut. He didn’t want to look at them, think of the shadows he saw in his dreams, the dark and looming terror. He wanted to go _home_ , return to Uncle Owen’s strong hugs and Aunt Beru’s stories, and smell the spices in their kitchen and feel the warm sand beneath his feet.

The pressure on his shoulders lessened. Whoever was holding him had let go, and so Luke rushed into the nearest corner, stumbling as he nearly fell to the ground. He pressed his back against the wall, trying to make himself seem as mall as possible.

“Child?”

The monster’s voice was surprisingly gentle. It had to be a lie; monsters and masters were never kind, they only hurt you and skinned you alive worse than the sands ever could. And yet the voice of this shadow reminded Luke of the images that had chased him before awakening, golden locks and a tall man, coming home, _returning_ for Luke-

“Luke, child, open your eyes, please.”

Luke shook his head. He wouldn’t. Not wow, not ever.

“Luke, open your eyes. You are safe, I promise.”

Luke just buried his head further in his legs, refusing to look up. The shadow, _a person_ , Luke thought now, let out a sound that reminded him of a frustrated groan but felt more like worry, panic, fear and my child, _my child, my son-_

Luke’s head snapped up.

He stared into what he thought was a droid, but they didn’t have the heartbeat of one. Instead, Luke heard a rhythm following that was alive and becoming more vibrant with every second.

“Who are you?” Luke whispered.

His throat was hoarse. He was thirsty, he couldn’t remember how long ago it had been that he had drunk something properly.

The person didn’t answer. Perhaps they hadn’t heard Luke correctly because Luke could _feel_ them. They existed and so they had to have a name. All things had a name, he had been taught that by the wind and the sky, the people passing through his home on their search for sanctuary. And if it was not a name they had been given, it was one of their own creation.

“What is your name? Who named you?”

“You have your mother’s strength,” the person said, grief so heavy it dared to drown Luke.

“Aunt Beru said I’m like grandmother Shmi,” Luke replied for the lack of a proper reply.

He didn’t know his mother, not even her name. His aunt had once spoken of a woman with soft hands, but she hadn’t been able to recall her name.

“Yes,” the person replied. “You have mother’s strength as well.”

“What is your name?” Luke asked once more, desperation seeping into his words.

This couldn’t be real, it had to be an illusion, a trick of the heat, but Luke’s heart _ached_ and the truth was as painful as it was clear.

“I am your father, Luke Skywalker. And you were named my child,” his father said.

Luke looked at the person, at his father, and reached the same way he had always yearned for the stars and skies, racing in Beggar’s Canyon, feeling like the only light in the dark.

And the dark reached back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> I hope you enjoyed it, I'd love to hear your thoughts :D  
> Also, for those interested, I've got Star Wars discord. If you wanna join, DM me @ [jasontoddiefor](https://jasontoddiefor.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!


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